


Face In The Dark Mirror

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-04
Updated: 2006-03-03
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:17:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8076730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: The ISS Enterprise is ordered to administer punitive action to a Terran space station. Tucker/f. Canon AU (Mirror Universe). (09/06/2005)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers, 4.18 "In A Mirror, Darkly 1," 4.19 "In A Mirror, Darkly 2."  
  
Canon AU. Violence, Intrigue, Rape, Betrayal and Murder. (In other words, a typical three days in the Empire.) If you don't know the Terran Empire, these are NOT the people you know! Catch 4.18 and 4.19, "In a Mirror, Darkly." This story takes place in my on-going series somewhere between 'Cross and Crown' and 'Time Stream'. It opens in Our Universe, then moves to the Alternate Universe 'first' introduced in TOS Episode 'Mirror, Mirror' and frequently 'visited' in ST:DS9, then concludes in our universe again. The details are intended to follow the 'canon' as established in 'In A Mirror, Darkly'. This story takes place in an unspecified time before 'I.A.M.D.'. Mary Sherman appeared briefly in 'I.A.M.D.' Remember when the cloaking device is sabotaged, and Tucker protests that his people can do the investigation, what Reed's are not needed? A redhead practically brushes past them to go to the back of the room.  


* * *

Commander Charles Tucker III, 'Trip' to his friends, exited his refresher, still damp from his shower, just tying a long towel about his waist when his main door slid open. Startled, he turned, seeing a young golden blonde woman standing in his doorway, her hands hidden behind her back.

The woman's complexion, her entire body, was 'tinted' gold in much the same way a human's would be 'pink', as was natural for an Auran who had evolved on a planet where gold was as plentiful as iron was on earth, and which performed the same basic life functions. In fact, she could 'pass' for a human woman in about her late 20's if not for this and several internal differences. But now, looking at her, the differences were not at all apparent to Trip. "Tia!" Seeing the Auran Exobiologist was the high moment of any day!

"Dampris ilinta, Shar-les, mrunion Salyuuni." She said softly with a most appreciative smile, her voice like ear candy to him. She quite enjoyed the view of this most handsome human. Seeing him in uniform was an intense pleasure; he in civilian clothes was ecstasy; seeing him like this was filvaseil! Humans simply did not have a word for what it felt like!

"Good morning." He greeted her in English. He noticed that she occasionally called him 'Salyuuni', at least since returning from Risa, but she did not explain it and he did not press an answer. He supposed it meant something like 'honey', but this was not the time to point out his continued ignorance of Auran. "Won't you come in? And close the door?!" He emphasized, liking the draft on his wet skin as little as the possible exposure he risked should someone pass.

"Anston." She apologized, stepping in and allowing the door to close behind her. She kept her hands behind her back, but he took a moment to linger on what he could see.

She was wearing a very brief pale blue top of a very light material, which attached by a single button atop her left shoulder, leaving her right bare. The color, he thought, highlighted her golden tinted skin marvelously. Another single button at her left side, below the level of her breasts, was all that held the very brief material in place. It did not come even a millimeter beyond her breasts, where the button held the material hugging her body, the sheer material clinging to her.

The 'skirt' was of the same pale blue attached with a single small button at her left hip, leaving her left thigh covered, yet exposed with any step. The sheer material hung past her hips less than a centimeter this side of decency.

It was fortunate there were few 'breezy' areas aboard a starship but still, walking here, she must have been giving his fellow shipmates a tantalizing display!

Of course he knew that, to Aurans, no part of the body had any distinction above any other; that clothing served the single function of keeping warm if needed and it was usually fairly warm on Enterprise, and that the human concept of 'modesty' was just that - human. But still this was less than he had seen her wear in public in quite some time. Less, and quite better! "You look spectacular!" He exclaimed.

"Ealyiis, Shar-les. Hoped I you like would."

"I do." He looked down at himself. "But I'm afraid you caught me at a bad time." He said, indicating the towel wrapped about his middle. Granted, they had very few secrets from each other in that area, but still...She shook her head.

"Nyas, Shar-les. I you 'bad time' at milin—um, 'catch' nyasi. Each ilinta—um, morning," she corrected, finding it very hard to concentrate on English when looking at him like this, "0645 enter the refresher you do, exit at 0710, and your quarters leave at 0725 to reach the Mess Hall at 0731. Open I the door at 0710.30."

He grinned, realizing it was wholly intentional, and how carefully she had contrived it. "I've gotta be less predictable!"

"Nyas." She smiled. "Fun would that be nyasi!" He noted she still kept her hands behind her back.

"Tia, what do you have behind your back?" Her smile broadened as she carefully brought two silver metal covered dishes, one stacked upon the other, forward while at the same time giving an enticing wiggle of her hips.

"Wanted I to ealyiis, um—to 'thank you' for last night say. Thought I you breakfast would bring."

He smiled, vastly pleased. "There was no need to 'thank' me. In fact, I thank you! As I recall, we both had a very good time!"

"Daai. Need there is." She replied with a playful smile, her silent grin saying all she did not need to speak.

"For what?" He asked, falling into her 'playful' mood. "Dinner? The movie ...or 'dessert'?" Her smile was both sweet and anticipatory as she looked at him appreciatively.

"The movie for. Enjoy it much I did." For the past two Tuesdays, and for the next four coming, the crew had been watching an ancient video sexlogy; "Star Wars". Last evening had been 'Episode 2: Attack of the Clones'. "Though the biology wrong they get did, and Ensign Mayweather much amused by the ship flight is; much fun it was. Favorite character do I enjoy."

"Oh, who? Anakin? All the women seem to like him."

She shook her head. "Nyas. Care I him for do not. I my own 'Jedi Knight' right here have!"

Trip could feel a blush rising in his face at her smile. "Well, thank you." He wasn't quite sure what to say, so tried to steer the conversation back away from him. "So, who is your favorite?"

"Yoda."

"Yoda?" He asked, surprised.

"Daai. Finally someone I see who to speak properly knows how!"

Trip could not help but laugh, and Tia's smile showed she enjoyed his mirth as well.

"But before here come; knew I thing about human 'dessert' no." She continued, stepping past him to his desk, aware of his eyes caressing her. "Like I it more than when Hoshi and Liz we 'dessert' eat. Like yours better!"

"My own special flavor." She stopped, breath caught in her throat at the word, momentarily lost in an appreciative recollection before she could force herself to move again.

She bent to put the covered dishes down, bending quite low. She stayed for several seconds, seemingly positioning the dishes precisely, getting them just right; feeling his eyes petting her.

She smiled a grateful smile to Hoshi and Liz, who had taught her a lot about what things interested human men as opposed to Aurans, and how to go about accentuating them. It was all still very, very new for her; but she was a quick and very motivated student as she learned just what things had the best effect upon the only one who mattered!

When she straightened up quite a few seconds later, she felt his hand slip under her long, golden hair so his fingertips touched the side of her neck.

She gasped sharply, freezing involuntarily for an instant as he touched her lightly, the only sound she could make a quick sharp exclamation. Her soft high exclamation of pleasure that communicated her sensations far better than English or Auran words! As he gently caressed the side of her neck with just his fingertips every sharp breath became a moan or high exclamation of sensual joy. He 'tickled' her from behind her ear to her shoulder as her high breaths quickened, her chest starting to heave as he almost brought her over.

The spot, on each side of her throat, was one of several erogenous areas for Aurans that were their close secrets. More than once, with people completely unaware of what was going on beside them, he had given her private and unknown pleasure. One time, during a concert in a crowded and darkened 'theater', he had brought her to a satisfying and intensely fiery orgasm with no one nearby even aware!

His left hand slipped under her arm to open the button on her pale blue top, letting it hang freely now almost curtaining her full breasts as his hands came up under it, cupping her as his lips replaced his fingers at her throat. She gave a soft ecstatic cry as his lips found just the right spot! Her hands came back to seek him, finding all she could reach from behind as she caressed his flesh, still at this moment warmer than hers. She leaned back against him, feeling his hot chest damp against her back.

Humans were about two degrees warmer than Aurans under normal conditions, but she was well aware that they were both getting rapidly warmer; and that her body heat would far surpass his maximum long before they were relaxed again. He had, in fact, more than once commented on her hot body 'burning him', both inside and out! Having thought that brief, rational thought, she threw away any rational 'interference'!

He held her cupped in his hands, his thumbs stroking her tiny golden nubs lightly, her color high, feeling them respond to his touch as his lips pressed hotly to her neck. Her every breath was punctuated by a small mewling of pleasure that could not be contained, growing in pace and pitch.

Her left hand left him for a moment to fumble with the button at her shoulder, and a moment later her pale blue top fluttered down to the floor.

"This is like another Earth custom." He told her, his lips at her throat as she leaned back to him, snuggling into his chest, the vibration of his words sending shivers of delight through her.

"What that is?" She gasped.

"Breakfast in bed."

"Ohh! Oh, Aura! How served is that?"

"Usually very fresh." He caressed her as she pressed her saucy bottom into him, wiggling about until she settled on just the right spot. "Hot!" His left hand drifted downward along her hip, slipping under the pale blue 'skirt', finding her. "Moist!"

She cried out loudly as he touched her. Moving wildly against him, he barely able to hold on, she gasped sharply and his right hand leapt to her mouth an instant before she screamed.

He almost lost his grip and support of her as he tried to muffle her shrill cry, and he flashed back to their first time together, when her first experience of fulfillment with him had shattered every piece of glass (shower included) in his quarters!

He'd learned to read her quickly after that!

She rode his body, unable to do anything else until the first wave passed and she leaned back against his body with a contented sigh. But as his hand cautiously came down again, he discovered she was far from sated.

She turned quickly, her left hand undoing the tiny button at her hip, the other tugging at the tie of his towel. The garments raced one another to the floor. "Oh!" She gasped excitedly. "Found I breakfast have!"

He pulled her close, kissing her passionately, her body scorching his. He'd never thought of testing her temperature at these times, and did not think of it now. He knew the answer would be startling, but that was not the emotion he sought right now!

He kissed her fervently, their tongues dueling sensuously, and she returned measure for measure. But this was not an Auran gesture; she kissed him because she knew he enjoyed it, and his lips found her throat again as she cried out, reaching for him.

"Tia?"

"Daai?" She asked, her voice rising in pitch, her chest heaving against his as she gasped, her body like a furnace.

"Those plates." He whispered scorchingly against her throat as she cried out in mounting ecstasy.

"Daai?" She gasped.

"They're empty, aren't they?"

"Daai!"

* * *

Tia Anlor pushed the large, heavy breakfast cart out of the turbolift onto the dimness of E-deck, trying not to limp, favoring her sore right hip. This area, like the rest of the ship, seemed perpetually shrouded in the low light, three-quarters of what she considered normal for Aura. Most of the ship's power, she knew, was devoted to weapons control, but she wondered if the humans really wanted it brighter, or if they preferred not to be able to see their privations.

She was shaking, trying to ignore the ache in her right breast from the hard squeeze Harry Sanders had given her before she'd managed to escape his quarters. Sometimes, listening to men like him, she wished the translator device could be turned off so she did not have to listen to all his vile plans.

She'd pleaded that she had to deliver the rest of the breakfasts, particularly to the Officer's deck, and would let them know the reason for her lateness. That was the only way she had managed to escape, but he'd taken his frustration out on her in pain.

But now the 'refuge' she had pretended this deck to be was shown to be a lie, and it became what it really was; a nightmare gauntlet to be traversed as she had to every eight hours!

Gamma/Alpha shift change. Gamma was one thing, they had not been relieved yet and she could just leave their dinners in their quarters. But Alpha shift had not yet started; she would meet each of those people, and have to deal with over a score of personalities, none of them kind. Most of the Officers were on E deck, and almost all of them were Alphas.

Stopping for a moment, she checked the pale gray 'dress' she wore as her only article of clothing, for she did not even have any shoes, let alone undergarments. Most of the slaves had at least that much; but when it became known that Auran custom gave no consideration to any particular parts of bodies above others, nor to clothing outside the functional and necessary protection against the elements, she was reduced to only the single outer garment. Someone's perverse decision left her without even undergarments, and she determinedly said nothing, never allowing anyone to see how she felt about this. It had been done to hurt her, and to allow that hurt to be known would only satisfy her unseen tormentor.

However, she took great care to preserve her one article of clothing, and examined it carefully, relieved it was not damaged. She'd been up late sewing it back together along the new 'seam' that ran now from the deep 'V' between her breasts to the hem, and her best efforts were not a strong mending at all. It was true that Aurans had no particular care about clothing beyond the purely functional, and on her world her favorites had usually run to long, flowing styles in floral colorings, but here the garment she was given had become an indispensable necessity. She knew many of the men would not object if she were to remove it; they tried often enough to do it themselves; and yesterday evening one had before satisfying his Terran lusts on her body. But some women objected strongly indeed, and could be very vindictive if she were to 'expose herself' to a man they found desirable.

'Expose herself.' There was the biggest Terran joke of all! How many times had she been forced to submit, not daring to defend herself, to the lustful demands of a ship full of men who cared nothing for her feelings or her will? At least, most of the time, she managed to escape violence through compliance. Most did not try to hurt her. Most just wanted to use her. But there were those who seemed addicted to pain—the pain of others.

Worst of them all, she thought with a shudder, was Lt. Hoshi Sato, the Communications Chief. That woman was a vindictive terror; cruel, merciless, and manipulative! That manipulative nature had led her to ultimately winning the favor of the Captain; and as the 'Captain's Woman', she got away with so much, and openly used her position for her own benefit and pleasure. Tia occasionally wondered if Sato spent time thinking of ways to make her life more miserable, but she knew from the others that she was not being particularly singled out. Sato was just one mean, vindictive karpatchi!

It was so different now than when she'd been brought on board. On her home world she had been a highly trained guerrilla warrior, until she and her team had escaped from the Silurians on one of their own ships. But that ship had been caught, damaged, and she was the only survivor. When she was found by Enterprise, and brought aboard, she had fought rather than be taken and enslaved again. But every time she fought, they won. Most times because the Terrans knew how to deal with resistance, sometimes by sheer numbers alone.

It began weeks of torment, where any hesitation to obey an order, or any resistance; was met with floggings or merciless beatings. And after they had reduced her to an agonized wreck crawling on the floor, she still had to fulfill the commands they had given her!

Finally, the Terrans did what a planet full of Silurians could not. They broke her.

When life consisted of one merciless beating after another, she began to give in, to submit; to do anything she could to lessen the beatings. Gradually they diminished as she learned compliance, submission, but always there was the threat of more pain, a pain she found she could no longer endure. They'd stolen her spirit. They'd stolen her courage. Now all her life consisted of was menial drudgery she could never escape, not when the Empire controlled all of space.

Now this was all she had left; work, pain and satisfying the lusts of any man who fancied her for an hour's recreation.

She started pushing the heavy cart again, needing a shove to get it started. Decks D & E were her assigned areas; and she rarely made it twice through and around the huge saucer in time. The food was always late from the galley. By the time she was done serving breakfasts and dinners to the changing shifts, she was always late and collected a lot of abuse at the end of her rounds for it. Occasionally, she was relieved it was verbal. Sometimes, and these times she dreaded, it was not. Then there were the days that some delayed her with 'extra demands'.

She stopped in front of the first assigned quarters on E deck, her least favorite, Commander Charles Tucker III, Chief of Engineering. Immediately the scar burned into her left breast twinged in remembered pain. She vividly recalled the day she'd gotten the scar from him, the one he ordered the doctor never to heal, though the Denobulan medical officer did a reasonable job in keeping her other abuses from crippling her.

Tucker had sent for her to come to Engineering, her least favorite place to visit due to the faulty warp shielding that had taken half the man's face, leaving it a hideous mask of burned scar tissue. She'd been in her second week as a captive slave aboard this battleship, and had made the monumentally stupid mistake of refusing his advances, unable to deal with the horror of his visage. An hour later he had summoned her to Engineering. She'd gone in with high trepidation, knowing to expect something unpleasant but having no idea how horrible it was to be!

She remembered with crystal clarity how he'd gripped her throat, slamming her hard into the bulkhead, his tight one-handed grip strangling her. She could not breathe or make a sound against his grip, but had already learned well enough not to raise a hand in her own defense. Scores of very thorough, very professional beatings by the MACO guards had cured her of that instinctive mistake. Besides, if he was going to strangle her it would only free her of this nightmare!

But then he'd pulled the top of her dress down, exposing her to the gathered men. Scared as she was, she had only been expecting gang rape or death—one not unusual either here or home, and the other a release. But then she saw the small glowing 'T' at the end of the rod held before her eyes, and fear leapt quickly through terror to panic as she realized what he intended to do!

It was a 'T' junction, attached to a metal rod and placed to interrupt the high tension charge across a circuit. The metal was not damaged, but had grown bright orange-red, almost white hot!

He'd aimed just above her left nipple, and she heard the loud searing of her flesh as, even against his strangling grip, she'd shrieked! She could smell the horrible stench of burning flesh as her screech ended and, strangled, she could only stand pinned to the wall and feel the terrible agony before everything had gone black.

When she'd woken up on the deck, pain was the first, virtually the only sensation she knew. The letter 'T' had been seared into her flesh, about two centimeters tall, black and burnished with golden blood, just above her areola. She had had to put herself back together and stagger out of Engineering as everyone went about his own business, completely ignoring the brutalized slave.

That had been, she'd thought, the worst thing she could possibly experience since escaping from the Silurians on Aura, all her friends killed in battle, and she being captured by a salvage crew which had found the derelict ship. That crew had been led by a monstrous Chief Engineer who'd found a beauty and had claimed—and ultimately marked—her for his own.

But that marking had been eight months ago, and she had since learned that there were more and greater, and more varied horrors for her to endure as a member of the slave class on this flagship of the Empire.

Now she hesitated in front of the door of this monster in human form, trying to work up the courage to enter. He'd tried to mark her as his own, and when he had been overruled by Captain Forrest, he'd gotten far more unpleasant, far more physical!

But her fear of him was overwhelmed only by the knowledge of what awaited her if she was late on her rounds! Taking a tray off the cart, she pressed the annunciation button. A moment later the door slid open. Offering a quick, fervent prayer to Aura, she stepped across the threshold. "You're late!"

For an instant her golden eyes flicked to the tall man dressed in the blue uniform, his face a nightmare. The scars that marked the right side of his face had pulled his eye downward, perpetually half closed, while the radiation had also prematurely grayed a shock of hair on that side of his head. But the scars on his face, frightening though they were, only gave a clear view of the scars in his soul! She cast her eyes down demurely, trying to repress a shudder. "Well?! Put it down!" He commanded savagely.

Hurriedly she crossed the room to the table, carefully and quietly setting down the tray upon it, trying to balance speed with perfection of placement, and avoiding any clatter. She did not believe she was late; she kept careful track of the chronometer, but she did not dare contradict him! Just put it down and get out! Don't look at him! Don't show how afraid she was! Just get out!

She left the table, having settled everything perfectly, and hurried across the room to the door, trying not to look like she was running away. "Stop!"

She'd made it only half way to the door, but stopped instantly! She did not look up from the floor as she tried to fight the trembling that grew in her body. She heard him come closer; saw his feet as he stepped in front of her. "Look at me."

She did not want to do that! She could not school her expression, her eyes, enough to hide her fear of, her loathing for, this monster! But she knew what it meant to refuse Charles Tucker's orders.

As hard and ruthless as he was in the domain he ruled as a prince who would be King, he was even more merciless with her.

Slowly her eyes rose as she picked her head up, scanning over his body, up his chest and the collection of silver medals. She did not know what they were for, and had never wanted to find out!

Even the uniform seemed designed to inspire terror in those that saw it. What kind of people would adopt as their symbol a sword slicing through their own planet? Or crossed swords almost cutting their own ship? Or a belt bristling with so many weapons it needed a leather shoulder strap to hold it in place?

She looked further up, past the black and silver epaulets proclaiming his rank, to his face. She wanted to hide how scared she was, but her breath was coming in short, fast gasps and her chest was heaving with the effort not to pass out from the terror!

The scars on the right side of his face, which distorted his features; pulling his eye out of place, and the shock of gray hair by that eye, only served to show the distortion within. There was coldness; a mercilessness that even many of his crewmates did not exhibit. It was like he was forever punishing the universe for his disfigurement.

She knew one thing about this face; it kept the Terran women away, at least those that had a choice. There were still many he could order to comply, or compel in some manner, but she knew no woman came willingly to him!

He knew it too, all too well, and that knowledge fueled a terrible resentment within him! Those he had to compel to his bed, and that was every woman below his own rank, did not enjoy the experience.

But worst of all was the way he treated her. With Tia, he barely had to compel or order her submission—he had the right to simply take her and he used it. But even when she gave in to him, mostly to avoid being hurt, there was always that anger, that resentment in him, that found expression in her discomfort.

And she knew that he simply did not care. He could have her, and use her to work off the tension and resentments of the day, and she could do nothing to prevent it.

She had never faced him over these months when he had not hurt her in some way, until she grew to fear him more than any other being! Worse, he came to represent to her all the horrors of this Empire. Other than the Silurians who had decimated her planet, she did not think she could come to hate another living being, but it was not so.

If there was one man in all the cosmos that Tia Anlor truly, passionately hated, it was Charles Tucker!

Not daring to look away from the horrible visage of his face, she felt him reach out to her. She tried to endure his touch, but her spirit quailed within her. Briefly she tried to imagine, seeing the undamaged side of his face, what he would look like if he were not so horribly scarred. She desperately tried to make herself less afraid, trying to force herself to imagine this.

She felt his left hand on the deep 'V' of her gray 'dress'; and the forced image dissolved as her fear overwhelmed her. He pulled the material out and his eyes dipped down. Her gaze fell off his as she dared now to follow his look. He was looking down her dress at her heaving gold tinted breasts, but where others would care about them as a sexual sight, she knew he was just as interested in his mark upon her. She looked up at him, seeing his smile at the view and the merciless glint in his eyes. "Please!" She whispered, her voice shuddering in her terror. "Please!"

"I think what you've got in there will make a tastier breakfast."

"Please, Commander Tucker!" She begged, starting to tremble more. She tried to keep from crying as her terror mounted. "Please don't! I have much more food to deliver! Please, sir!"

"You were mine! You still bear my mark—and you will all your life! He thinks he took you from me, but you are mine!" He grabbed her breast tightly with his right hand, making her cry out in pain, in overwhelming terror. She cringed in pain, her legs giving out under her, clamping her mouth shut with one hand, trying not to scream as he squeezed tightly, crushing her sensitive flesh! She longed to be able to fight back, if only she could dare! "Did you go to him? Is that it? Did you ask him to interfere?"

"No, sir! Please! I did nothing!" He squeezed tighter, really hurting her as she screamed. "I did nothing!"

He released her, and then brought his hand up hard and fast, backhanding her across her right cheek. She cried out as much in fear as pain, her hand going to her stinging face. "Get it off!" He commanded tightly.

She tried to keep from crying, knowing she was lost. She did not want this—ever—but how could she stop it?!

But if she was late, she was going to be punished! No one down the line cared why she was late, just that she was late! And their punishments ...

"Please, Commander. I still have to deliver to Captain For - ." She realized her mistake in mentioning his name as she would for others as his hand came up even harder to slap her left cheek, the crack echoing off the close walls as she was knocked a foot back. She regained her footing, trying to cover both cheeks. "Please, Sir! Please!" He advanced on her, fury contorting his already horrible features. He grabbed her right hand, pulling it down. She could not evade his left fist as it caught her under her jaw, knocking her to her left to slam into the bulkhead!

Momentarily stunned, trying to push back off the bulkhead, she couldn't prevent him from grasping her shoulders, turning her and slamming her backward into the steel. She barely managed to duck her head to keep from being knocked senseless. Still she remembered her 'lessons' and kept her hands down at her sides! "Please, sir! Please! Have mer -!" He grabbed her collar in a tight, two fisted grip. "No, Please!" She cried, panicking! "I just fix -!" She wailed in torment as the material, barely sewn well enough to hold together under normal wear, parted from collar to hem and was yanked viciously off her shoulders and down her arms to fall to the floor behind her!

She cared less that she was naked than that she would have to complete her rounds with what little, if anything, was left of the garment. "Please, Commander! Please!" She did not dare try to cover her body. "When I finish my rounds I'll come back! I promise! Please!"

She never saw his right fist before it slammed brutally into her stomach and she doubled over with an agonized, ragged cry.

Tucker grabbed her long golden hair and yanked upward, slamming her head back against the bulkhead. The pain in her head almost making her pass out, Tia stood clutching her stomach, trying to start breathing again! She couldn't get the rhythm back, gasping brokenly, unable to get air into her lungs! She tried to put her hands up as he started hitting her over and over again, his punches pinning her to the wall.

She could not defend herself, did not dare try as he beat her mercilessly as she stood screaming for mercy, screaming for help that would never, ever come! She knew that, as badly as he was beating her body, punishing her in his fury for being taken from him; if she tried to stop it, it would be infinitely worse! She was dazed and helpless, tasting blood flowing back into her mouth, feeling it trailing down her face. She was so battered she could not even try to get away, could barely think.

Finally, after an unknown time measured only in pain, he stopped and she fell to her knees, pitching forward, barely conscious. She was semi-aware of being moved, but could do nothing to prevent it until she felt his weight come down upon her and a searing pain, worse than the branding, knifed into her!

Over her scream, the intercom sounded. "Bridge to Tucker! You're late for your shift!"

"I'm busy!" He yelled, as he tore another scream from her. From where she lay on the floor, Tia could see the intercom light did not go out as she kept screaming. Whoever was there was listening to her rape, certainly enjoying it; and she couldn't even try to quiet herself or him. Tucker assaulted her even harder, her screams echoing through the room as he ripped more pain from her helpless body!

* * *

When he got up off her, leaving her on the floor; he fixed his uniform and stepped over her bruised and battered body, the door opening and closing a moment later.

Tia Anlor lay still upon the floor, unable to tell one pain from another. She couldn't get up. She was beaten so badly, used so brutally, that she could not move! Her body was already covered with dozens of bruises from his fists. Her face felt wet with golden blood, and she could feel more of it flowing from her violated flesh.

And she knew she was late! She couldn't get up, but she still had a deck of meals to deliver! She was going to be punished for being late, and each person down the line could take what punishments he or she deemed fit.

It didn't matter why she was late!

She was going to be punished for this!

Left alone on Charles Tucker's floor, Tia began to cry.


	2. Morning In Perdition

Major Malcolm Reed left his quarters in a foul mood, striding down the dim corridor with a deadly manner that caused any to cross his path to fervently wish they were elsewhere.

His uniform was as sharply pressed as his manner. The phase pistol at his hip as filled with menace as he was himself. The razor sharp dagger at his left side was as deadly as his mood. The medals on his chest gleamed even in the repressed light as much as did his fire of purpose. The Imperial standard, the sword piercing Earth, and the Enterprise patch depicting his ship resting upon the strength of crossed swords only gave hint of the fierceness of the man himself.

Breakfast was late, and he could not delay his arrival on the Bridge. More to the point, he wanted to have an opportunity to talk with the ship's Denobulan doctor later, when his initial duties on the bridge were complete. He had had an idea, late in the night, which he prided himself on as being absolutely inspired! It was one he was sure the Denobulan, with his taste for experimentation and his background in 'medicine', would certainly see the benefit in. Better yet, his practical skills could almost certainly make Reed's inspiration a reality!

Up ahead, he saw a man approaching. But this man was looking quite definitely bleary-eyed, and his uniform looked like he had been wearing it for over a day! "You, there!" He called sharply.

The taller man stopped, snapping awake, crashing to attention and saluting; a sharp strike with the closed right fist to the chest, then the stiff armed outthrust of that fist. Reed could almost hear the man's thoughts.

"Where are you going?!"

"My quarters, sir." He answered, eyes straight ahead, body held at stiff attention.

"Your quarters? It's 0730; why would you be going to your quarters?" Reed asked dangerously, getting up close to the man.

"I've been relieved, sir."

"Relieved? Who in their right mind would relieve you a half hour early?"

"Ensign Dubrowski, sir."

Reed bit his tongue. He most firmly wanted to call this man a liar, charge him with dereliction of duty, and throw him in the brig. But he had a better idea. "Mister, you will return to your station and fill out your duty along with Dubrowski. Commencing next Gamma shift, both of you are to work double shifts for a week. Maybe in the future you will both remember how to properly relieve a post."

The man continued looking straight ahead, not letting anything at all show in his expression. "Sir!" He saluted sharply, turned about face, and marched back to his post.

Malcolm Reed kept watching as he walked away, just hoping the man would do something, anything, that was short of perfection, but he did not as long as he remained in sight. He and Dubrowski, Reed knew, would spend the next week fuming, at both him and one another, over the result of this one ill-advised kindness.

Reed had no sympathy for either of them. It was just the sort of laxness the lower ranks were constantly falling into. It was almost more than Reed could do to stem the tide; but now he was sure he had found a way!

He tried to return his attention to the pleasant thoughts that had been his moments before. He had been thinking about a divinely inspired insight into how his on-going problems might one day be resolved, and this encounter only fueled that desire!

Contemplating this inspiration almost overcame his annoyance at having to miss breakfast, but only because that loss spoke of the very inefficiency he intended to stamp out aboard this starship. If his plan worked in reality as it had in his dreams, inefficiency would be a thing of the past. He would never again have to deal with a violation of regulations. Discipline would be perfect, for the lack of it would subject the guilty party to a thing of overwhelming terror.

If it worked as well in reality as it did in his inspiration, it would make floggings and the exertions of physical punishment a thing of the past. Machines would do it all, with the cold, impersonal efficiency possible only to a machine.

That would be a major part of its terror, because mercy and compassion, which sometimes had been known to temper punishments, would be a thing of the past!

It might take months, but in the end, breakfast would never be late again. Discipline would be ultimate. Obedience and efficiency would be the standard of the day.

God, it would be wonderful!

xxx

Commander Jonathan Archer stepped out of the turbolift onto the bridge, his sharp eyes quickly surveying everything. It was just a minute past 0730, and Gamma Shift was in its final half hour, but Archer's duty was to have the bridge ready for the arrival of the Captain.

Even as he stepped onto the Bridge, he felt the tension levels all about him rise in response to his arrival. The Commander was a hard and harsh leader, a perfectionist who was not gentle in the methods he used to gain that perfection from the people under him. His eyes were hard, as was his entire manner. He seemed to be always holding himself in check, holding some seething anger just below the surface, and may deity grant mercy to any who caused that anger to break.

Archer carried himself with the manner of one who knew he outranked everyone aboard, save one. His greatest desire was a command of his own, but there was one man in the way of that ambition. Ironically, it was one of his few friends. That was the only reason that kept him from moving against the man—for now.

But always, in his dealings with the crew, was the daily knowledge that he was second in command, and it was a bitter thing indeed. In one sense, he was over everyone on the ship, but he was still second. Added to this the firm conviction that Enterprise should always have been his, that the 'conspiring Admirals' had kept him from the command he'd had the right to expect, made Archer's life an unhappy one. It was one of frustrated ambition that he took satisfaction in taking out on the scores of subordinates who served under him—not a dozen of which he would ever turn his back on, even with the backing of his own personal guard.

There would be no point in trying to keep anyone from seeing the tightness in his features. It had been ingrained into them over the course of years. Years of striving for hardness of heart and sternness of manner had etched those marks upon his face and engraved them upon his heart. The years of serving aboard this ship in the secondary standing; just one heartbeat, one misstep, from the command he always believed should have been his, had not been kind to his soul.

Commander T'Pol was already at her Science station, but this was nothing unusual. She claimed Vulcans needed little rest. Archer thought she was just trying to curry favor with the Captain. That was why she never left the bridge until well after he did, and was always on duty before he arrived.

Archer had said more than once that he did not care; that the 'woman' did not impress him. But the fact was that on a ship where efficiency was noticed, counted strongly in a person's favor and could win advancement beyond one's 'deserving', he had to take note of appearances as well as reality. She was, after all, third in command!

And one of the realities, at least for him, was that he did not like her, even if he would never turn his back on her. As he was a heartbeat, a misstep, from advancement; so was she.

In fact, Archer particularly loathed and resented her and her Vulcan calm and stoicism and logic and efficiency and ...well, just everything about her now that he thought of it. And if she was not looking for and waiting patiently in that Vulcan way of hers to get his position, it was because her people had forgotten how to make knives, either intellectual or real!

"Status?" He did not manage to keep the impatient irritation out of his voice, but she favored him only with a half-upraised eyebrow; almost as if he did not rate a full one.

"All ship's functions operating at norm. We are three parsecs from the Gamma Eridani Cluster, traveling at Warp 4 on course 187 mark 23. We shall arrive at Gamma Reticuli IV in two hours, twenty seven minutes. The orbiting space station has been notified of our arrival and is standing by with supplies for ship's stores. Sensors detect no other ships in the area. Engine efficiency is at 92.7 percent. Environmental systems are optimal. Offensive and defensive systems are at full capacity."

Her businesslike tone was all efficiency, but without inflection of any kind. She had provided him with all he needed to know, but had made no effort to do one thing more, not even to modulate her tone of voice. He could not fault her for her efficiency, but by her lack of tone she communicated a contempt that was not openly expressed and therefore could not be openly challenged. There was no regulation that said an officer had to be pleasant, just good at her job.

And he had to admit, she was good at her job.

The question he had to keep firmly in mind, and to be cautious of, was: would she be good at his?

He turned away, striding over to the Communications console.

"Any communications from Starfleet Command?" He asked sharply. It was one fraction below a demand, and he strove to get his manner under control. To be aggravated by the Vulcan 'bitch' was one thing. To let how she got to him be seen was quite another, and was wholly galling indeed.

"No, Commander." The night ensign responded, very carefully screening from face and tone the fact that, if there had been; the summation the First Officer had just received would have contained that information.

Archer, who knew this too, refrained from consulting the helm or situation board, knowing he had two choices. He could openly show, without speaking the words, that he did not trust the Vulcan so he would see for himself; or he could accept her summation and sit down and wait for the Captain. Otherwise, for the next twenty five minutes, unless he created some work, there would be nothing for him to do.

He chose to do neither, stepping over to the helm and checking the readings displayed there for himself. They said everything that the Vulcan had reported, but by his body language he made it clear that he regarded her statements as less than satisfactory, as if he had to check everything for himself.

Of course, in doing so, he noticed he made the relief helmsman nervous. Too bad. If the man were not performing his job with the efficiency required of him, he would soon be found out. And if he was, he had better grow better nerve if he wanted to survive as a bridge officer. If he couldn't handle the job, others were in line and seeking the prestige of a station on the bridge.

Trying his best to keep his thoughts from showing on his face, he strode to the Command chair and sat down in the luxurious seat. He had to admit it felt good, as it always did. He particularly looked forward to the day when he would sit here of right, not just until the arrival of his 'friend' and superior.

'Friend'. He wondered if the word had any meaning for someone in his position. He was Commander, First Officer, and his duty was to make certain the ship was running perfectly and that the crew performed their duties in an exemplary manner. Any deviation from that perfection was dealt with, swiftly and harshly.

It did not matter whether the crew liked him, or if he had any 'friends'. Just so long as those below him—meaning everyone - performed their duties perfectly. If not, well, there were measures to make certain they did.

A moment later one of those 'measures' presented himself on the bridge in the person of the Security Chief / Armory Officer. "Major Reed." He called sharply, not even looking back toward the man. He kept his eyes on the viewscreen before him, with its display of oncoming stars. In his mind's eye, as in reality, he 'saw' Reed stop on his path to his station and face him.

"Sir?"

"Call up a tactical report on Dartmouth Station. Main screen." He settled back, preparing to learn everything he could about the offensive and defensive capabilities of the establishment. This was ostensively a simple, routine stopover, one of re-supply only, a rendezvous they had made several times already.

But Archer had gotten as far as he had in the Empire by anticipating the worst and preparing for it. In the unlikely event that this was not going to be a simple, routine matter, he wanted to be ready.

Dartmouth Station appeared with tactical data upon the screen. The familiar lines had a well worn look. The Enterprise had stopped at the facility uncounted numbers of times to take on supplies. There was little about it that was unfamiliar. Even through he had never boarded it himself, he felt he knew every corridor, every chamber. He could navigate through its interior blindfolded.

But that was not his goal. In fact, the thought of being blindfolded was the last thing on his mind. He wondered vaguely where the expression had come from, for he was certain that if he ever allowed himself to be so, it would indeed be the last thing he experienced.

Driving such nonsense from his mind, he settled his attention to the external view and schematic of the station that was their destination. It was a sphere, protruding from which were a dozen 'spokes' which ended in docking ports which could serve the needs of up to a dozen ships at any one time. He wondered if it had seen any such activity since the last Imperial fleet had gone through on its way to enforce some action or to blow someone out of the cosmos.


	3. Captain's Woman

Tia Anlor, the pain in her brutalized body overwhelmed by her terror of punishments to come, manages to reach Captain Forrest's quarters. She has used the heavy food cart to keep herself on her feet as she went from door to door, delivering breakfasts to crewmen who were ungrateful at best. Her lateness would be theirs, unless they decided to forego breakfast, but none—thank Aura - were interested in wasting the additional time it would take to reprimand her. There was a rendezvous with a space station coming up, in which they would take on supplies, so it was just a matter of 'put the tray down and go' from most of them.

But now she reached the Captain's quarters, distinguished as much by the huge Imperial symbol painted on the door as by the two guards standing outside. Removing a tray from the rack, trying to ignore the eyes of the guards on her body, Tia held the torn dress closed and tried to use the corner of the tray to press the annunciation button.

The guard on her right, a tall man with dark skin, perhaps feeling a bit sorry for the struggling slave, perhaps in some manner of gentlemanly quality she hardly believed a Terran possessed, pressed the annunciation button for her. She flashed a carefully grateful smile—it did not do to encourage a Terran—a moment before a voice called from within: "Come." He touched the top button, letting her inside. She entered, carefully not meeting his eyes as she stepped, barefoot, over the threshold.

She crossed straight into the room, headed for the table where she would set the tray down. She tried not to look at anything, but peripherally she saw the blue uniform to her left, and when she focused the briefest possible glance on it she saw, with sinking heart, that the gray haired Captain Forrest was already dressed and ready for duty. She had lost so much time. So much!

She tried not to look at him, but even before she set the tray down he spoke to her. "Just a minute." She had the tray half down, holding it with one hand while the other kept her dress clutched closed, when she froze.

His tone was not harsh or sharp. It was not loud or demanding. It was the voice of a man who had long grown used to his words being obeyed. "Sir?" She did not look up, did not look away from the tray, from the table that was her objective. She wanted to set the tray down and get out!

He stepped over to her. With one hand on her wrist he pushed down gently, making her complete the motion to set down the tray. Then his hands on her shoulders almost gently compelled her to turn toward him. "Look at me."

There was no compulsion in his words. They were said by one who had no doubt he would be obeyed, but all she could feel was fear. She didn't want to be used again. She didn't want to be abused again! She just wanted to finish her chores and go 'home'!

When she could force herself to raise her eyes up his blue uniform with its many medals, past the black shoulder boards with the four silver strips, it was to a face that was almost fatherly in its ...compassion. But she did not believe it. Do Terrans feel compassion?

He took the front of her gray garment just over where her hand clutched it tightly, and waited until her hand eventually released it. She did not want to. He had not hurt her before; but every Terran eventually abused her in one way or another! And the worst thing was that she could not dare to stop it! She wanted to cry, to beg, to appeal to his mercy, but she was sure he did not have any!

He spread the dress wide, and his eyes surveyed her body. "I see you still have that brand." He said with what she suspected was a deceptive mildness. "I would have thought you'd have had it removed." She wanted to tell him that she did not dare, that she was terrified of what Tucker would do to her if she tried, but she did not trust this human either. Terrans were all alike; the only difference between them was when she suffered, not if. She watched his lips tighten as his eyes took in her bruises covering her body, and the dried golden blood upon her thighs. He shook his head, almost sadly. "If I asked you who did this, would you tell me?"

She never got the chance, because the voice that answered came from the bed behind him. "Does it matter?" When Forrest turned, still holding Tia's dress open wide, the Auran's face drained of blood when she saw Hoshi Sato lying under the cover.

"It matters." The Captain told his Communications Officer. "Look at this." Hoshi looked over the nude girl appraisingly.

"Nice firm boobs, but a bit big for my taste. Good firm figure, however. Nice curves" Forrest let the dress go, disgusted. It had not been the appraisal he'd been seeking, and he knew she knew it. Tia started to move to close the dress again from where it draped, but Forrest's next words chilled her heart.

"Feeling threatened?" He asked, barely looking at the Japanese woman who lay in his bed. He'd meant it in irritation, but the reactions of both women went unseen by him. Tia saw Hoshi's eyes flick over her again, and this time with the realization that she could feel threatened. The young Auran froze in terror, as if, like a baby rabbit caught in the sight of a wolf, if she stood still enough she might escape notice and live!

"By a food slave who's here to provide meals and dessert?" Hoshi said contemptuously, but there was no dismissal of a possible rival in her eyes. "She's meat for any man strong enough to take her; and any man is strong enough."

"But that does not make it right. Any of it." He shook his head. "And something is going to be done." His tone was almost introspective, as if continuing a conversation only he had been having. But it only lasted a moment before he broke away, turning to Hoshi. "Enjoy your breakfast. I'll see you on the bridge."

With a casual nod to Tia, he strode out the door, so unexpectedly Tia had not broken herself from her terrified paralysis. She turned; clutching her dress closed and started to hurry for the closed door. "Hold it!"

Tia could have sobbed as she froze at the sharp command, wishing she had been alert enough to escape with the Captain!

Hoshi got off the large bed, and as Tia shifted her eyes to look at the approaching doom the woman represented, she saw her wearing a slinky black negligee that revealed more than it pretended to hide. It was closed at the neck and swept open between her breasts to flow to an open curve at her hips. The only other garment the woman wore was a very small pair of black translucent bikini panties that closed in two bow ties at her hips.

Tia could only bring herself to move her eyes. The rest of her was frozen in terror. Hoshi stepped up to her, the black negligee fluttering slightly in the tiny breeze of her movements.

"So, our Captain finds you interesting." Hoshi said with terrible softness. She was the only one Tia knew who could infuse so casual a tone with such deadly menace.

"No, Ma'am." She whispered, eyes down, meek. She knew better than to meet those deadly almond eyes. She had already been badly hurt, and just wanted to get out of the room without being hurt more!

But as Hoshi stood close, her closeness emphasizing her threat, Tia felt her terror mount. She was already trembling more than she can possibly control. Her fear was overwhelming, making it difficult to breathe.

"Really? Certainly looks like it to me. Tell me, is he developing a taste for golden flesh?"

"N—n—no, Ma'am!" Tia whispered. She gasped, frozen in mounting panic as Hoshi's hand came up. There was a wicked looking dagger in it she had not seen before. Had Hoshi had it in the bed with her?

Tia's terror mounted as she stared at the gleaming blade, which caught the various lights in the room on its mirror-like surface. Hoshi played it about in her hand, the lights in the room playing along the razor sharp blade, the needle point tip.

Hoshi brought the blade up, using it to move aside the two halves of Tia's dress, using the younger woman's breasts to hold it aside, seeing the burnished bruises covering her body and the golden blood on her thighs. Tia stood trembling in panic, unable to take her eyes off the glistening blade. "That looks like Tucker's work."

"He raped me, Ma'am." She whispered, unable to meet the woman's eyes.

"Yes, that's his way. I trust you learned your place?"

"I know my place, Ma'am." She gasped as the blade's sharp point pressed into her breast. She froze even more deeply, trying not to tremble, trying not to breathe, so the blade would not pierce her! She wished she could calm her pounding heart!

"Good. You do have a brain in that head." She regarded Tia appraisingly, looking down at the violated area. "You never get any—"

"Aurans don't, Ma'am."

"Good. Tucker likes his women bare; nothing to get in the way." Hoshi smiled as the taller woman blushed a bright gold, even her eyes shot through with 'bolts' of gold she could not hide. Hoshi knew this humiliated her, it being shameful to those of her race. Since she had learned this, she went out of her way to humiliate and embarrass the Auran at any opportunity. She so enjoyed humiliating the Auran beauty, if only because she was so startlingly lovely.

"No, Forrest wouldn't want someone like you. He likes his women strong, confident. You'd never be a Captain's Woman." Hoshi started to run the blade teasingly along Tia's body, the needle sharp tip tracing a path along her flesh, enjoying her mounting fear as the younger woman stood still, unable to move, trembling and gasping in abject terror. The needle sharp point drew golden lines upon her tremulous body even as she stood immobile.

"I'm the Captain's Woman, you know." Hoshi 'reminded' her, trailing the gleaming blade over the Auran's breasts, the needle-sharp point drawing thin golden lines upon her firm flesh. "It may not be a real rank, but it's better than Lieutenant, better than Major or Commander. It takes a lot to get it. A lot of talent. A lot of ability. And it is something to be kept!"

"I would never try to -!" Tia stopped as the dark woman pressed the blade into the tip of her breast. She stood absolutely still, too terrified to breathe, feeling the needle sharp point pressed into her as she fought to stop trembling lest she bleed again!

Hoshi held the blade dimpling the young woman's breast. Just an ounce more pressure would draw blood; just a flick of her wrist would slice her skin open.

"You could never be a Captain's Woman. Not a whimpering, trembling coward like you!"

"No, Ma'am!" She whispered.

"And you are a coward, aren't you?"

"I just don't want to be hurt anymore!" She breathed, her breath shuddering. She was completely unable to control it.

"Yes, you do get hurt a lot, don't you?" Hoshi eased the dimpling pressure on Tia's breast, but it was no reprieve as the blade started moving again, slowly trailing over her shuddering body. Tia's wide golden eyes followed the gleaming, mirror-like silver. "It seems that every time I see you, you've collected some new bruise or other." The tip ran from one bruise to the next, connecting them with lines of gold that another ounce of pressure would turn into bleeding furrows. "Of course, on you, the gold makes it look interesting, almost burnished, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Tia whispered, not meeting the woman's eyes, unable to take her eyes off the glittering blade. She felt like she was going to cry, so terrified was she, but if woman could drive her to tears it would be just one further humiliation. Her heart was thumping wildly in her panic, so fast and hard it hurt.

"I remember when you came aboard, the day you were captured. So fiery, so independent. So strong. You were quite the young warrior! We beat that out of you, didn't we?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Tia gasped, feeling the pin pricks along her stomach.

"How many beatings and floggings has it taken?"

"I don't know anymore, Ma'am. There've been so many!"

* * *

Hoshi enjoyed tormenting the golden woman. Ever since she had been allowed to go through that Auran 'luuru', she'd grown taller than Hoshi, almost statuesque, but the way she cringed so much made her seem shorter. Hoshi was pleased she was still able to intimidate her so thoroughly, to terrify her so completely. The young woman's chest was heaving as she gasped, trying to breathe against the panic that robbed her of her air.

"But you are resilient. Every time we knock you down; you keep getting up, don't you?" She brought the blade up under Tia's right breast, pressing up, the weight causing her pain as Tia froze, not daring to breathe! She kept utterly still, trying not to gasp, needing desperately to breathe and too scared to dare! "Perhaps you're not really as broken as you seem." Hoshi said speculatively, the implication clear.

"Please, Ma'am, no more! I can't take any more!" Tia whispered desperately, not able to speak aloud, terror stealing her voice. The whispered pleading had robbed her of the last of her air, yet she dared not breathe deeply for fear of being cut! She felt herself growing lightheaded, her heart pounding so hard low in her chest that it hurt.

"I don't blame you." Hoshi said, trailing the knife down to the golden woman's stomach to her thighs, then back up as Tia gasped desperately for breath. The woman knew just how much she could do before Tia might faint, and kept her just below that point, so the torment could go on and on.

"Then again, a beautiful woman doesn't want to be damaged, and you are a beautiful woman." She drew more slow lines of pain across Tia's body. "Tell me, do you have many admirers on this ship?"

"No, Ma'am. I have men who take me; men who rape me, men who use me, men who hurt me. They all just want what they can get, but no one wants me." It was the longest sentence she'd ever used to the dark officer.

"Still," Hoshi said, considering, "the passions of men are so fickle, you know. And you do clean up rather nicely, I'll admit." She continued, running the sharp point of the blade lightly over Tia's golden skin. She seemed to be expecting an answer.

"Yes, Ma'am." Tia whispered shamefully, unable to look away from the gleaming blade as its needle sharp point raked over her trembling body. She couldn't stand the unending fear, knowing the woman was going to abuse her and not knowing when or how! Worst was the knowledge that her own unique beauty led to a lot of her misery, more so when she dared to resist!

"Phlox can have you as good as new. He's very talented, but I guess you know that. That is, when he's not indulging his taste for experimentation. You'd be back to turning heads all over this ship in no time."

"Ma'am, I'd never -!" The blade came up near her face, forcing her to meet Hoshi's eyes as the woman asked dangerously;

"Are you contradicting me?"

"No, Ma'am! Never!" She exclaimed, her terror mounting. Her heart was pounding so hard low in her chest, her breath coming in such short gasps, she was afraid that if she did not get it under control she would faint!

"So..." The blade started to move down slowly along her body, past her breasts. "You do like to turn men's heads."

"Please, Ma'am!" She begged, unable to do more than whisper, certain she was going to faint. The blade moved lower, past her stomach as Tia's panic mounted.

"Maybe even the Captain's head." The glistening blade moved lower still.

"Ma'am, I'd never take the Captain's attention from you!" She whispered; trembling uncontrollably, watching the gleaming blade continue to descend, lower, ever lower as Tia stared, her panic overwhelming, totally unable to move.

When the dark woman's silence made her look up; there was a horrible, merciless gleam in Hoshi's eyes.

"I know you won't!"

In the corridor one of the Captain's guard; charged with keeping Hoshi safe, was startled by the bloodcurdling shriek that sliced through the bulkhead!

Travis Mayweather slapped the button beside the door, opening it even as he hefted his phase rifle. He came around the edge of the door frame in perfect technique, the rifle leading—and froze!

In his years as a MACO, long enough for him to rise to Sergeant, Travis had seen many horrors, so many he had come to think of himself as immune to their effect. Now he knew the sight before him would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his days!

He told himself that Hoshi, the one who was his responsibility, was in no danger. He told himself that, this settled, he could reasonably close the door. He told himself to forget what he saw as Hoshi withdrew her bloody hand and Tia collapsed to the floor, writhing in agony. He told himself he would just forget this. He told himself he was a damned liar!

xxx

Captain Maxwell Forrest strode onto the bridge in a black abstraction, barely hearing his Tactical Officer's call to Attention, returning the bridge's salute, a striking of the closed right fist to the chest and then a stiff armed extension of that fist, without even seeing it; sitting down in his command chair barely a second after his First Officer vacated it, acknowledging that worthy's salute. He paid attention to the man's report of ship's condition with half an ear, knowing that if there was anything wrong that needed correction, Jonathan would already have attended to it long before reporting it.

Most of his attention was on Starfleet's position of having slaves serving aboard Starships, and the lessons of history. He sometimes wondered if he was the only one who ever studied history, or tried to learn from its lessons.

Just as the report was done, Gamma Shift Communications Officer Harris spoke up. "Captain, Starfleet Command is hailing. Admiral Black, sir."

Forrest nodded. A moment later he was out of his chair. "Relay it to my Ready Room. You have the bridge, Commander." He stalked off the Bridge, trying to iron out the scowl that had appeared on his face, a feeling growing in the pit of his stomach that he was not going to like what the Admiral had to say.

He never did.

xxx

A few minutes after the horrific scream that had drawn his attention, Travis Mayweather turned as the door to the Captain's quarters slid open and Hoshi Sato, clothed now in her blue two piece uniform, which molded itself to her svelte body as if painted on by a brush, stepped out.

She crooked her finger to Travis, indicating he should follow her. There was a smile on her face that was more predatory than pleasant. The dark man complied, not looking into the room as the door slid closed, not wanting to ever see that horrific sight again. He caught a glimpse, before the door slid shut, of the young woman lying on the floor, still unable to get up as she clutched her wound, and that single image was enough! He followed the smaller woman as she ...'sashayed' was the only word he could imagine ...down the corridor. Clearly the woman was in a very good mood indeed. Travis tried not to imagine how this was possible!

They reached the elevator and he checked the interior before admitting her, closing the door behind them. It started moving as Hoshi leaned closer him, looking up at Travis with a seductive expression, her warm hands on his chest as she whispered hotly: "Stop the car!"

When he did so, she reached for him, intensely excited.


	4. Doctor Mengele

Commander Charles Tucker III strode into Engineering like a King entering his throne room. He was in a very good mood indeed, made so by the relief of tensions he had in dealing with the young Auran slave. She was indeed a beauty, and he felt quite possessive of her, having been the one who had found her. And it felt good to occasionally exercise that possession.

He sometimes wished, however, that she would put up a bit more resistance, but they'd trained that out of her months ago. Then again, he got enough reluctance out of Terran women. It felt good sometimes to have a woman who didn't give him any trouble, but who knew her place and how to stay there.

And as he'd told Malcolm Reed more than once, he loved it when a woman begged!

Now he stopped just inside the door to his domain, looking about, his sharp eyes noting everything from the brisk efficiency of his crew to the gleam of the instrumentation. He had no doubt the former was a recent improvement—they probably hyped up the moment the doors had started to open—but a quick check of the latter would spot it out. All his 'subjects' had stopped and saluted as he entered before returning to their work. Now he would see if their assiduity was real or sham.

He strode over to the first readouts, checking them carefully. Beside him, the ensign assigned to the night shift grew cautiously still. Tucker looked from the board to the man and back again, not happy with what he found in either. He looked at the man again, his eyes probing discerningly. If possible, the ensign grew even tenser as Tucker stared.

He entertained the thought of screaming 'Boo'; imagining the younger man shrieking and dashing out the door!

Instead, after a few moments, he turned and went on to the next status readout. Behind him, the ensign did not dare relax. He knew that if the Commander turned and caught him...

Tucker continued his tour of inspection, a tour made even more disconcerting for its silence. Normally he was not reticent in his criticism, so to be quiet now was particularly unnerving. No one knew how to prepare for the first thing he said.

Actually, Tucker was concentrating on holding on to his good mood for as long as possible, concentrating on the memory of the young woman writhing helplessly under him, but the satisfied feeling he had been enjoying before he'd entered was fading rapidly as it became clear that the efficient hype he'd observed was sham indeed.

At each station he inspected he left behind a feeling of mounting unease, which grew as he kept his thoughts to himself. Finally, satisfied he had seen everything there was to see, he walked over to Lt. Sam Domar, who led the night shift. He came right up to the man, closer, closer still, until they were practically chest to chest and nose to nose.

"Ninety two point seven?!" His shout echoed through the room, causing everyone within to want to dive for cover. Domar did not flinch, but his hair seemed to want to leap up and run. "When I went off we were at ninety seven! What in Hell have you been doing all night?!"

Actually this was an exaggeration and a lie, and Tucker knew it. They had been at ninety four percent just sixteen hours before, but Domar was neither stupid enough nor suicidal enough to call him on it.

"Sorry, sir! We'll do better, sir!"

"Damn right you will!" He took a step back from Domar's nose so he could address the entire room. "You'll all remain on duty until I'm satisfied with your work! Who knows, maybe Alpha crew can teach you people something about being engineers!"

xxx

"She's not usually this late, even under the worst conditions." The gray clad Kaspar observed, scanning E-deck not only with her eyes but her considerably more sensitive Andorian antennae as the two slaves backtracked their friend's usual path.

"There's her cart." Martek said. The El-Aurian man pointed down the curving corridor as the large wagon came into sight. "It's in front of the Captain's quarters."

"This does not look good."

"What does?" He asked dismally, the wave of his hand taking in the entire vessel and their lives aboard it. El-Aurians and Andorians fared as poorly as most other non-Terran races; at least, those races that had survived the initial contacts, having something that the Imperials wanted or considered useful. As they approached, while they were still more than twenty meters off, they saw the Captain's door open and Tia crawl out.

"Not this!" Kaspar exclaimed, finishing her answer to his question. They hurried forward as Tia crawled to the cart, reaching up to it. But even as she reached the handle her strength gave out and she collapsed; face down, on the deck. Reaching her, they were distressed by the sight of the trail of golden blood tracing from the now-closed door.

"What happened to her?" Martek asked.

"I doubt you want to know." Kaspar replied, feeling her last meal threaten a bitter return. She forced it down, knelt and forced herself to turn Tia over, finding her covered with bruises, blood on her legs, face and torso.

The El-Aurian man carefully picked her up, her bloody gray 'dress' hanging off, while the Andorian woman surveyed the still quarter full cart, only half the dinners having been served to Gamma Shift. "I'll take care of her; get her to the Doctor." He told her.

"I'll take care of delivering ...this." Kaspar said reluctantly, covering the young woman's body with the hanging garment.

"Will you be all right?"

They look from the cart to Tia, laying motionless and bleeding in Martek's arms. "Probably not, but I can take care of myself. At least better than she can."

xxx

Phlox, the Denobulan physician assigned to Enterprise by the Empire, glanced up from his work as his 'assistant', if that word could be used to dignify a slave, entered. Elizabeth Cutler had reportedly been captured some months ago on a Centauri ship, and since she had some skill as a medic, she had been assigned to him. Cutler had been serving aboard the cruiser which had made the mistake of trying to outrun Enterprise when the Terrans tried to board and inspect her for contraband. At least this was what little he knew about her, or even cared to know. The history and concerns of a slave were none of his. His main concern was in keeping the Terran crew healthy. He was loyal to the Empire; the rest were superfluous.

He did not mind her presence; however. She was a comely wench with long, light brown hair and an expression that spoke of openness. Though unfortunately not the open sensuality or free sexuality of a Denobulan woman, she was still pleasant to look at. A little short for his taste, but he'd found that short women had their pleasurable uses. Perhaps he would find out how Elizabeth Cutler fared in that regard. Perhaps soon?

Right now she wore, as she usually did, the drab grey garment of a female slave. Though it was suitably short as it was for all the women, and sleeveless, it showed no imagination or appeal. Perhaps he would talk to the Captain about assigning garments with some aesthetic appeal. Perhaps.

"What are you doing?" She asked, indicating the body on the table before him. It was a Rigelian, whose chest cavity had been opened wide, tacked open, and Phlox was busily probing about in the man's interior. He did not bother answering. The dark man had no love of expressing the blatantly obvious. "Isn't he from the Rigelian ship we engaged last week? I thought the cause of death was obvious. The MACOs shot him."

"This isn't an autopsy. I had a few cadavers brought aboard. I'm just doing some recreational exploration."

Cutler carefully hid her thoughts about the Doctor's 'recreation'. It did not do well to annoy the black clad alien. She never knew when she would have need of his 'services'. Though, the truth be told, she'd probably prefer to bleed to death before she let him get his hands on her.

In fact, considering the occasional look in his eyes when he looked at her, there were many levels indeed in which she did not want him touching her!

In addition to a callousness and coldness toward those in his 'care', he had a tendency to go off on tangents whenever the mood to do some 'experimentation' took him. She had no desire to become one of his experimental subjects. She doubted she could live with the result.

However, she did have to admit that she at least understood him. More than a love of 'experimentation', he had a real disregard for the comfort of his patients, and was as ready to kill as heal, depending upon his orders. He would support his crewmates, heal them, but he had little regard for those who may run afoul of the Empire.

Fortunately, their 'conversation' was interrupted by the opening of the double doors. When they turned, they saw an El-Aurian man carrying an Auran woman, both slaves. Elizabeth gasped, seeing the blood dripping from her young companion slave.

Phlox would have turned them away, having little time for the concerns of slaves, especially such a chronic victim as the Auran, who he had to patch up more times than he cared to consider; except for the trail of blood leading up to his door and dripping onto his floor. "Put her on the table." He directed ungraciously. 'Here we go again.' He thought, not bothering to mask his irritation. 'What trouble has she gotten herself into this time?'

Martek placed her on the bio-table and immediately the sensor panel over her head lit up, displaying readings that calibrated themselves instantly to the pre-programmed parameters of Auran physiology. Phlox pushed aside the remnants of the dress, noting the volume of golden blood upon it. Tia was barely conscious, seemingly unaware of where she was. "We found her outside the Captain's quarters." Martek explained, cautiously seeming to speak to Phlox when in reality he was addressing Cutler. He doubted the Denobulan would even care, but at least the woman was a fellow sufferer of the Terran misery, and would do what she could.

"Seems someone did not care for their breakfast." Phlox remarked as he probed the intimate wound. Tia stiffened, a hand clamping over her mouth as she fought to keep from crying out.

Phlox, looking up at Tia, addressed her with a small smile. "You really must choose something less sharp for your entertainment."

Cutler, brushing her long brown hair back out of her way so she could help with Tia, stared at him in outrage. "Doctor!"

"All right." The black clad Denobulan responded ungraciously. He reached down to either side of the table, selecting two straps which he positioned over Tia's hips, securing her tightly to the table so she could not move her hips. "You," he directed the El-Aurian slave, whose name he did not even know, "grab her knees and hold her wide, give me room to work." Reluctantly, the man obeyed, spreading Tia's thighs, wanting to be gentle but knowing there was no way to make the situation any better for his suffering friend. He winced as he saw the damage Hoshi's knife had done before Phlox's body blocked the horrible view.

As Phlox probed with his instruments, spreading her, Tia writhed in agony, trying not to cry out but the pain breaking through her clamped mouth. "Not too bad. Deep, but reparable." The young woman cried out, unable to keep silent as he spread her further, looking within. She flung her arms about Cutler's hips, pulling her close, burying her face against the woman's hip as she wept. Elizabeth allowed herself to be clung to, knowing nothing more could be done to ease the young woman's torment.

"Doctor!" Elizabeth demanded Phlox's attention. He looked up at her with a 'what are you bothering me now for?' expression. "Anesthetize her!"

Phlox gave her a look as if to say 'why would I want to do that?' "She's consumed quite enough of this ship's medical resources. Always showing up here every few days..."

"At least give her a sedative! Something for the pain!"

"Nonsense. Perhaps this will give her an incentive to keep out of trouble." The Denobulan said dismissively, picking up a long silver implement. "At any rate, I'll only need about twenty minutes or so."

As he started to work Tia, unable to fight Martek's strength, clung to Elizabeth, buried her face in the woman's hip and started to scream!


	5. Duty

When Forrest had left the bridge, Commander Archer resumed his place in the center chair, looking over the various stations surrounding him. He tried to keep his thoughts carefully guarded as he wondered just how long it would be before he would sit in this chair of right. Some day. That day was coming. He did not know when, but...

Over the next few minutes, the rest of the Alpha Shift officers arrived and assumed their places. Each of them saluted Commander Archer upon arriving, in turn receiving the salutes of their lower ranking counterparts of Gamma shift. Then there were the usual reviews to run through, and still the Captain was notable in his absence. It was unusual for him to be away from his chair at this point, and the divergence from routine did not go unnoticed.

In fact, it was the cause of a measure of unease, which concern grew more pronounced as the situation progressed.

When Captain Forrest stepped out of his Ready Room onto the Bridge, every officer aboard instantly knew he was not happy; and the bridge crew held its collective breath. When the Captain was not happy, it usually meant that they were soon going to become very unhappy as a consequence.

"Captain on the Bridge." Reed called punctiliously. Everyone snapped to attention and executed the Imperial Salute sharply and perfectly. No one was willing to appear slow or imprecise when the Captain was in such an obviously foul mood.

"Commander; Mission Briefing in ten minutes." He strode off the Bridge, followed by his personal guard, and everyone on the bridge other than Archer and T'Pol breathed a carefully disguised sigh of relief.

x

In considerably less than the specified ten minutes time, Major Malcolm Reed, Lt. Hoshi Sato, Commanders T'Pol, Charles Tucker and Jonathan Archer were assembled around the briefing table, waiting upon their Captain. None knew the reason for the man's foul mood, only that they were hoping that whatever had angered him might possibly miss hitting one of them.

Each sat waiting, carefully attentive and erect in their seats. There were times, though rare, that the Captain's anger had occasion to spill over onto a likely target, and each was careful to avoid becoming that luckless target.

"In a few hours we are scheduled to rendezvous with Dartmouth Station to take on supplies." Forrest said sharply as he addressed his Officers from the head of the table. He stood looking down at them, rather than speaking while seated. Everyone in the room took it as a very bad sign.

"What you do not know is that Dartmouth Station has been identified by Starfleet as a key point of dissident activities in this quadrant. It is believed that certain aliens use it as a meeting ground for spreading their discontent and dissension to members of their own and other races.

"We have been ordered to clean it out."

The fateful pronouncement hung in the air, and absolutely no one in the room wanted to touch it. For all the experience of this Starfleet crew, the implications were explicit indeed.

"I can have an Assault Team ready in a few minutes notice." Reed reported.

"We can beam in and capture, or liquidate, those individuals respon..." T'Pol's voice trailed off. She had actually hoped there was some modifying aspect to the Captain's order, though she knew that, dealing with Terrans, there would not be.

"How thorough is this cleansing operation to be?" Reed asked, eagerly anticipating a firefight. If there was anything in the universe Malcolm Reed enjoyed, it was blowing things up.

"Total, Major." If any of them had found the ramifications of this order hard the first time, this was no better. Normally there would be no reluctance at all, no second guessing. But this was Dartmouth Station!

"Starfleet is aware," T'Pol pointed out, "that Dartmouth station provides supplies of food and other essential resources gathered from Gamma Reticuli IV to ships from all over the quadrant. Many of these ships are unable to make planet-fall to gather resources from a land-based facility."

"They're aware, Commander, as am I." He told her tersely, warning her with his tone not to try his patience.

Starfleet had established Dartmouth Station about the rich and fertile planet of Gamma Reticuli IV because its gravity, over 1.75 times that of Earth, made landings and launches almost economically prohibitive. Since the establishment of the station, supplied as it was by races used to dealing with heavy gravity planets and stocked by transporter, re-supply of vast numbers and varieties of ships had become economically profitable, as well as a relatively simple matter of accomplishment.

A vast array of ships, many of them part of the Imperial fleet, depended upon the rich and varied resources of the Station for essential supplies. Interruption of the smooth operation of the station would be extremely inconvenient.

"Commander, what is the tactical capacity of the station?" Forrest knew his First Officer had researched this information as a matter of course.

"They have polarized hull plating, two phase banks nearly ten years old; and very limited torpedo capacity. They have no shields. They can usually depend upon the good graces of any number of ships that are docked for re-supply, and the fact that no one would be inclined to open fire on such a facility." It was the furthest even Commander Archer was willing to go in expressing his thoughts about this order. When he had reviewed the situation that morning, he had done so with the thought of re-familiarizing himself with a port he'd known well; not with thinking of it as a target.

Forrest turned to Reed. "You will send all MACOs as a strike force to beam aboard at key locations. You will remain on the bridge to deal with any ships docked at the station that wish to object." He just barely managed to keep the irony he felt from his voice.

"Aye, sir." Normally Reed relished the chance to go up against any foe, regardless of race. In fact, he positively reveled in destruction, in the opportunity to blow things up. But this time the results hit quite close to home indeed. "Are we to leave survivors?"

"Total cleansing, Major. Starfleet is very specific. If possible, try to avoid damaging the station itself too much. It will be re-staffed with crews who have been approved, but the present contingent is suspect and forfeit. Furthermore, any ship docked at the station is to be considered 'suspect' and is to be excised."

"The station's compliment is 540." Archer reported. "The majority of these are Terran."

"You have your orders." He straightened. "Long live the Empire."

As one, the assembled officers rose and executed the Imperial Salute. "Long live the Empire." They repeated in unison.

None would say what they all felt. The words, this time, had a somewhat rancid flavor.

x

When the other officers filed out to return to their duty stations, Forrest said; "Not you, Commander." When the door closed, Jonathan Archer turned to his Captain.

"Sir?" He tried to keep the hardness out of his eyes, but it was so ingrained into them he doubted he ever could erase the set.

"When this operation is over, by the end of the week I want us at some Imperial Planet. I don't care which one. When we arrive, I am putting all the slaves off the ship." Archer was surprised. "May I know why, sir?"

"They are a security risk. But more important than that; their real danger is far more insidious, because the fall is something we are bringing upon ourselves.

"Our people are warriors, but they are growing soft. They grow used to the idea of having things done for them. Do you realize there are 14 civilian slaves now, to serve the needs of 89 Imperials? That's nearly 1 in 6.

"We have 2 'classes' of 'slaves'. Those we do not openly treat as slaves, and those we do. We have members of serving races that serve the Empire; who are indoctrinated with the ideals of the Empire and service and loyalty to the Emperor. And then we have outright civilian slaves, who we even distinguish by the manner of their 'dress'. We outfit the women in short sleeveless grey 'dresses', grey vests and pants for the men. It's almost Roman."

"Sir?" Archer was taken by surprise by the divergence.

Forrest shook his head, disgusted. Could the man not have a better sense of history? Then again, did anyone he knew?

"The Roman Empire, the last great Empire of the first Epoch, fell because its people became decadent. They wanted slaves. It was a status symbol and a way of enhancing the household and making certain that things got done. And there were plenty of people in the surrounding lands to meet the demand. Eventually there was not a civilian home that did not have all the slaves it could use—or more.

"And they did everything; every sort of job. Everything that was beneath the dignity of a Roman to do got shunted off to slaves. And you'll be amazed at how much was, or became, beneath the dignity of a Roman.

"Eventually there was no household that did not have three or four slaves. The richer households had more. Some boasted ten, twenty, thirty! Ultimately the slaves outnumbered their Masters' households by five to one, ten to one, twenty to one!"

"But they were subjugated."

"They were Terran, with all the fire of the species." Forrest insisted, disgusted with the man's lack of vision. "That cannot be beaten out completely. And eventually they learned just what twenty-to-one odds really meant. When the most technologically advanced weapon near to hand was a sword, numbers quickly make a big difference.

"So while the Roman Legions, the best fighting men on the planet, were off conquering new territories; at home Rome fell. By the time the Legions went home to find out why home was so quiet, all that was left was a deserted city filled with moldering corpses."

"And your point?"

Forrest frowned. Was the man completely without vision, even after all these years?

"The point, Commander, is that Starfleet is no better. It is one thing to staff these ships with serving members of subjugated races, men and women who are instilled with loyalty to the Empire and the Emperor. It's quite another to populate them with civilian slaves who we in turn treat as slaves. They do the menial jobs, but in time I wonder if our men and women won't forget how to do these jobs. And when that happens, who depends upon whom? You realize; we don't even go get our own meals anymore? We have someone for that - for as long as she lives, that is."

"And she's the only one of her kind." Archer said thoughtfully. It would be good to get some more Aurans.

"That's another thing. We have aliens aboard who are, every day, exposed to slaves of other alien races, but Terrans are the masters. Just how long will it be before they start getting ideas? There's talk of dissent even now in some sectors. The 'Avenger' had to put down a 'dissention' on Coridan just last month."

"We have no slaves among the subjugated crew."

"No? We've three Vulcans serving aboard and a Mintakan female. How long a reach is it from Vulcan to proto-vulcan?"

"Well, what are you going to do? Starfleet has approved this arrangement." Archer reminded him pointedly. Forrest said nothing. It was not well to criticize the Admiralty, not even behind closed doors.

"There are alternatives, Commander." He said finally. "It's just a matter of finding them. In the meantime, start making the arrangements. I don't care where they go, and I don't particularly care what happens to them when they get there, but I don't want them killed. I want them off this ship within the week, and a good price collected for them."


	6. Conspiracy

In the Slave's section, a large room on Deck G Aft, in the communal room, the varied slaves, men and women, conferred in the center of the room. They kept low to the floor, their whispers quiet even, or especially, in their own compound. There were eleven who listened to their instructions carefully; the Orion female, Leena, the blue Bolian male Vist, the El-Aurian male Martek, the Mintakan female Alura, the Trill male Volare, the Tellerite female Garz, the Argelian male Qupek, the Caitian female M'Rawl, the Ligonian male Liram, the Andorian female Kaspar and the Markellian female Salir. They were all gathered closely about another Andorian male, Kris, their ostensive 'leader' since his arrival some weeks ago, who was addressing them in quiet but intense tones. A few feet to the rear of the room, on a bunk, lay the thirteenth member of the group; an Auran woman whose moans of pain punctuated the air even though she was unconscious.

"I don't like it, Kris." Volare insisted. "Even if the plan works perfectly, they still have to -." The unjoined Trill shut himself up as the door unexpectedly slid open. They all looked apprehensively to the door, fearful that despite all their cautions they might yet have been discovered; but as they recognized the new arrival their manners relaxed. Rather, they breathed heartfelt sighs of relief!

Elizabeth Cutler stepped into the room, letting the door close on the two MACOs assigned to keep them in and secure when they were not working to serve the Imperials. She tried to keep her manner casual for fear that they might pick up on some tension, but they were singularly unconcerned about the 'helpless and beaten' slaves they guarded.

In fact, both MACOs considered the duty to be an empty one. This bunch of beaten and defeated slaves would not be making trouble for anyone anywhere.

It was just the kind of attitude that the varied aliens did their best to support.

As Cutler entered the room, gathering her long brown hair back from her shoulders in a habitual motion, the tall Andorian Kris rose gracefully to meet her. She looked past him at Tia where she lay on the bunk, groaning. "How is she?" She asked as quietly as she could.

"He fixed her wounds," Kris admitted grudgingly, "but there was little gentleness about it."

"Tell me about it. I was there. Phlox is in one of his experimental moods. This time it's surgery without anesthetics."

"Bastard!" They stepped past the others, who broke up their conclave, each returning to his or her usual positions in the room, restoring 'normalcy'. Both Elizabeth and Kris stood over the groaning Auran. "She's unconscious, but it's from the pain, not anything he'd spare to give her! She's been like this since they brought her in an hour ago. She's lost Qell knows how much blood, and you've seen what the Terrans did to her!"

The golden girl wore another gray dress, her former one a total loss, but she lay still, her moans testifying to a pain that went beyond consciousness; that intruded even into the delirium she'd fallen into. Liz reached into the top of her own gray dress, pulling from her bra a small silver case. "I managed to smuggle some of this out. It'll ease her pain."

A moment later the green Orion female Leena was beside them, a stolen hypospray having been retrieved from its secreted place. Liz opened the canister, revealing 6 small phials of an amber liquid. She took one out and placed it in the injector compartment. "One dosage every twelve hours; I got her three day's worth." She said this as quietly as she could. In this room, it did not pay to let more than the person you were speaking to hear what you were saying.

"It's going to take more than three days to heal this much damage." Kris protested. "You'll bring more?"

Cutler shook her head. "Can't. I barely managed to get this much out unnoticed. Besides, it's highly addictive. Three days is all she gets." She pressed the device to the young woman's golden neck and there was a soft hiss. "It suppresses the pain receptors. She should feel better almost immediately. This should help her sleep." Even as they spoke Tia started to relax, the tension easing from her body. In a few moments her groaning stopped and she appeared to sleep normally.

"Powerful stuff."

"Yes it is."

Leena touched her arm. "Can't you -?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I said it's addictive, and I meant it. Three days, and that's it! After that, well ...I'm sorry. I've done all I can."

"Sometimes it's amazing to us that you can do as much as you do. You're down here yourself as a slave, but as a Terran—."

Elizabeth's hand flashed out faster than the man could see, and she pinched one of his prehensile antennae between thumb and forefinger, squeezing tightly. The man groaned, trying not to wake his friend even as he fell to his knees in his own pain. The other slaves were about them in an instant, but no one moved to break her grip, fearing to do more harm than good to the sensitive organ.

"Don't ever call me a Terran unless you really want a fight!" Cutler grated between clenched teeth. She released the sensory stub with a flick that made the man topple over, looking up at her, shocked by her vehemence. Cutler drew herself up to her full height, proclaiming proudly: "I am a Centauri!"

The old colonies of Alpha and Beta Centauri had been developing a true Nationalist fervor over the past few years, uncomfortable at first with the Empire's policies and actions, but too weak to try to break away. The nationalist passion was particularly fueled by their closeness to Earth. It was one thing for the outer regions to express dissatisfaction with the Empire, but the Centauri citizens who chose to dissent took a particular pride in their 'independent streak', doing so right in the Emperor's own back yard.!

Even when the movement made the ones who actively voiced their protests into slaves within their own Empire, they did not back down. They claimed that the same spirit that had seen their ancestors carve out a living with 'primitive', untested tools, far from aid on an inhospitable set of planets in the earliest days of colonization, now saw them standing tall even as the Empire sought to grind them under its boot heel.

Kris looked up at the woman, gingerly touching his sore antenna. "I apologize, Centauri."

Elizabeth smiled, reaching down to help her friend up. "No hard feelings?"

He shook his head "None." He smiled tightly. "Pink skin."

She patted his bare blue chest. "Now that you may call me."

She looked around among the other members of their group. "How goes the progress?" She whispered as softly as she could.

"Slowly, but we'll be ready. We have two days left." Kris told her with equal softness. "Everything is still on schedule."

* * *

When Kris had come aboard over two months ago, apparently captured on a one-man scout-ship, he'd given them some astounding news. The Andorian militia had chosen to make a stand, and to openly oppose the excesses of the Empire. They had concocted a plan that was bold and daring, and if it succeeded it would deal a heavy blow to the Imperial forces. The plan was complex, required exact timing, but if it worked they could score a major victory.

The Andorians were not yet ready to strike against the supremely powerful Empire, but they could weaken it by some carefully timed surgical strikes.

One plan, which Kris was assigned to help orchestrate, was to win the support of the slaves aboard Enterprise and, at precisely 1530 hours two days hence, they would sabotage the main power systems aboard the Imperial flagship. The method of accomplishing this, five small melankite bombs of appropriate power, carefully smuggled aboard and planted by the slaves just before zero hour in appropriate locations, would disrupt the power flow throughout the massive starship. The target locations were not near heavily guarded sources of the power, but at the more vulnerable junctions.

The smuggling of the bombs had been a masterpiece of insane planning, which owed its success to its very lunacy. The bombs had been partially beamed into a module less than one meter in length, the energy of the incomplete transport held while the module, its shields calibrated to make it appear as a piece of rock, virtually ignored by the massive starship's sensors, had been 'planted' in space along Enterprise's patrol route.

Admittedly, it was the unswerving nature of Enterprise's routine that had worked against the starship, and allowed the Andorians to doom it. They did not need to know when the Enterprise would pass a specific point, only that it would. Had the Imperials ever varied their routine, ever used even a modicum of inspiration, it would never have worked.

But the Imperial mind-set was deeply ingrained, not only aboard this ship but on all the other targets. That had led to the Andorians' inspirational insanity.

Eventually the on-board sensors detected Enterprise on its usual patrol course, and at the appropriate instant the transport was completed, the bombs materializing in the slaves' chamber, where they were carefully secreted. The power of the transport, practically at point-blank range as the starship ignored the small rock near its path, was so low that it had gone undetected.

It was a mad, lunatic scheme that could have gone wrong in any one of a thousand ways. No intelligent planner would ever have considered the plot, nor relied on it as the crux of the plan. And that very impudence was the reason for its success; for it was so incomprehensible in its audacity that no reasonable planner would ever have thought to guard against it!

* * *

The bombs themselves were of sufficient yield to do considerable damage on their own, but their true effectiveness lay in the supply of liquid melankite with which they would saturate the area. Melankite was a compound created in an oxygen free environment. When exposed to oxygen, it became an extremely powerful corrosive that would rapidly dissolve anything not destroyed in the initial blasts. Repairs would be out of the question; everything would have to be completely rebuilt, the task of hours or days if it could be done at all. And that time would not exist for the Terrans.

With the power systems completely disrupted or destroyed; warp drive, sensors, weapons, defenses would all be gone. At 1530.50 an Andorian cruiser would drop out of warp at point blank range and blast the battleship with everything it had! It would take a lot of firepower to take the Enterprise out, but in the time that the starship was sitting helpless in space the slaves would get to the escape pod on F deck starboard aft and jettison themselves for retrieval by the Cruiser.

Similar and carefully synchronized maneuvers would take out the 'Avenger', 'Vindicator', 'Destructor' and 'Emperor's Fist'.

It was hoped that the sudden, simultaneous loss of five of Starfleet's mightiest starships would be what the people needed as a rallying cry, as the proof and assurance that the Empire could be weakened enough for star systems to break away; or indeed that it could be defeated!

"Will she be able to do her part?" Vist asked; the Bolian's blue features dark with concern as he looked at the unconscious Auran lying on the bunk.

"I doubt it." Cutler replied. "I'll be surprised if in two days she can even walk. But it won't matter; she and I were supplementing each other."

"I'm covering the distribution of food." Kaspar said, her antenna shifting toward her fellow Andorian.

"But they are not used to you, they might be cautious."

"They knew they had nothing to fear from her." Kaspar agreed. "She couldn't stand up to any of them. They were sure to beat that capacity out of her early." The Andorian woman looked at the Auran, wanting to be critical but the best she could manage was pity. "She came aboard a firebird, and they broke her into a ..." The comparison failed the blue woman.

"Doesn't matter." Elizabeth Cutler insisted, pushing a lock of her long hair past her shoulder. "Whether the sedative gets into the food or air or both, it's all the same. She and I were backing each other up, and I'm ready to go."

"We're ready to deploy the bombs over the next two days." Kris said quietly. "You're sure you're ready at your end?"

"Phlox trusts me implicitly. I've been here a long time, and I have access to all the medical stores. I've been gradually siphoning off the supplies I need to introduce the sedative into the atmosphere. It won't have any apparent effect, won't knock them out or anything, but it will slow reaction time by ten to fifteen percent. They'll be tired, but it will be end of Alpha shift and no one will take particular note of some fatigue after a full shift." Elizabeth Cutler told him with a feral smile. "By the time the Terrans notice, it will be too late."


	7. Trust?

"Captain, may I speak to you?" Commander T'Pol stood diffidently at the doorway of the Captain's Ready Room after that man had acknowledged her signal at the door, opening it by a button on his desk.

"Come in, Commander." Forrest said, letting her step past the door, which closed behind her. She tried to ignore the fact that one of his personal guards, Mayweather, had followed her into the room.

She took a step further, all of her control carefully in place, masking her expression and keeping tight rein on her emotions. It would not do well for the Terran to sense the concern she was feeling, beyond that which she wished to verbalize. She was taking enough of a chance just doing the latter.

"What is it, Commander?"

"Captain, I am concerned about our mission."

Forrest put down the stylus he'd been holding, giving the woman his attention. "Concerned?"

He regarded the Vulcan closely; the blue, two piece uniform of a female Starfleet officer which left her bare from just below her breasts to low down on her hips; the black bars on her shoulders with the three silver strips of a Commander; the way her pale brown hair fell long past her shoulders; the way she held herself carefully rigid and erect as if fearing the slightest softening of posture or manner. She was a typical soldier of the Empire. 'Just once', he thought, 'she should slouch.'

"Sir," she began as stiffly as her careful posture, "Dartmouth Station provides an essential service to the entire quadrant, and I am ...uncomfortable with Starfleet's order to kill everyone aboard."

"Uncomfortable?" He asked, giving her just enough to draw her out. He had been as 'uncomfortable' about the order as she was, something he had not been able to hide, but this order had come from Admiral John Black. He was someone it was not wise to cross—at least without knowing where one stood and who one's allies were.

. T'Pol was frustrated. He was very coyly not letting her see his own position, but was trying to draw her out, and that left her in a very precarious position indeed. But she had already committed herself to this confrontation. "Sir, Starfleet has ordered us to kill everyone on the station, not even knowing who they are, nor what plans the dissidents—if any—have made. No provision is made in our orders for Intelligence gathering. Thus, we will know no more when we are finished than we do now. Additionally, we are to destroy any ships present, again without knowing who will be there. Supposing it is another Imperial Starship; are we really expected to fire upon it?"

Maxwell Forrest could not deny that these thoughts had been troubling him just as much ever since he'd received his orders; orders that had left no room for question or interpretation. But as he looked at his Vulcan Third-in-Command, he could not help but be cautious. Her questioning of orders was not atypical; he had learned to put up with it because it usually provided some useful insight that made forbearance worth it. But she should be cautious; the day would come when he was not in the mood to tolerate questions.

But this situation was an extreme one, yet he could not avoid the thought that while it was not unnatural for the Vulcan, maybe it was also just a little too well timed.

He knew that the Admiral had placed someone on board who owed his allegiance to John Black long before he owed it to Maxwell Forrest. He did not know who that was, though he had his suspicions. But he also had to allow for the possibility that maybe it was not a 'he', but a 'she', or perhaps there was actually more than one...

"Commander, these orders come directly from the Admiralty, and are not open to question or interpretation." He told her firmly. "You will resume your station and perform your duties."

"Sir!" T'Pol snapped to even more rigid attention, saluting sharply; the striking of closed fist to her chest, and stiff armed extension of that fist. She about-faced and strode out of the office.

* * *

Outside the door, back on the Bridge, seeing that First Officer Archer had returned to the Bridge and resumed his place in the center chair, T'Pol returned to her Science Station, shaken. She had really thought that she had sensed in the Captain a kindred spirit, particularly in this situation. She had believed that he would see the illogic, the waste, in such orders. Clearly she had been wrong. The structure of the Terran Empire was more deeply ingrained into him than she had thought. It had been a major tactical blunder on her part! She had gone in, confident that her assessment of him over the years they'd served together was such that he would see her point. But she had been wrong; horribly wrong, in that she had displayed a weakness to her Captain, one that in turn weakened her position, perhaps fatally.

Only time would tell how much this blunder would cost her; but from this point she had to be very careful indeed. She had come to think of Maxwell Forrest as a 'moderate', as a man who could be approached and perhaps even trusted. Now she knew that some or all parts of that careful assessment were wrong. She had risked much of the stability of her position on an incorrect assessment, and she was sure she would soon have to pay the price, unless she was very much more careful in the future.

The price could be anything from a loss of status to, while walking down a corridor some day, a knife in her ribs.

She looked with only her eyes, carefully watching a monitor at her station, to where Travis Mayweather had resumed his own post in front of the Captain's sanctum next to his partner, wondering if the day would come when he would be ordered to execute that sentence.

* * *

Maxwell Forrest stared contemplatively at the closed door to the bridge. Much, in fact all, of what the woman had said was troubling indeed, and matched very closely his private thoughts. Starfleet's orders, Black's orders, were sheer madness. But they were also carved in stone, and could not be avoided.

But T'Pol. She of all people surprised him by coming to him openly with concerns that mirrored his. But was she a kindred spirit, someone he could trust, as he had thought? Or was she a spy for John Black, directed at this moment of stress to feel him out, to see if he was performing his duties in the 'right' manner; if he was 'worthy' of his Command; of keeping it?

Could the Vulcan be trusted? The possibility of unknown spies was too real to ignore. He could not take chances.

Better to keep an eye on her, and keep her at arm's length, until he could be sure.

But, he thought somberly, could he ever be?

x

Forrest sat for a long time behind his desk, thinking. He had already made his decision regarding his next course of action, but he reviewed the pertinent crew record very carefully one more time before pushing a button on his desk. A moment later the door slid open and Sergeant Travis Mayweather stepped in, saluting sharply. "Go down to Engineering and bring Commander Tucker to me."

Again Mayweather saluted before leaving to carry out this assignment, leaving his partner on guard. He knew that if the Captain just wanted to speak to the Chief Engineer, he would have sent for him by intercom and that officer would have come. By sending Mayweather, it was clear he wanted to see him now. The implication was clear as it had been so many times before, in like situations; Mayweather could drag him up if necessary.

In less than five minutes the MACO Sergeant was back at the door, with his 'parcel' in tow. Receiving an acknowledgement to his signal, he stepped aside, allowing the man to enter ahead of him.

Tucker was not in a good mood, having been summarily summoned by a Sergeant in front of his crew, and brought up from Engineering.

Mayweather couldn't give a damn.

As the door closed, Tucker ignored the MACO and saluted his Captain; the motion just a hair's breadth slow. It was precisely executed, textbook form; but there was still a shadow of insolence, just disguised carefully enough as precision. "You wanted to see me, Captain?" Again, the words were precise, no trace of his usual manner. There was no 'old home' relaxation in his syllables, they were precise and perfect. If the Captain wanted to make an issue of anything, it would have to be that Tucker was too correct and precise in his shows of respect.

Forrest regarded his Chief Engineer from behind his desk, drawing out the inspection, not saying a word, not changing his expression by one iota. He drew it out to the point where he could see Tucker starting to have some misgivings, that maybe he was not as correct as he tried to show. Perhaps the Captain had something on him, perhaps he had slipped somewhere on his work, or personal life, or...

The more Forrest drew out this silent inspection, the more uncertain Tucker clearly became, and the more carefully the man hid it. But his poise was definitely being undermined, even if nothing showed in his mask.

'Mask', Forrest thought. 'That would be appropriate. Perhaps Tucker should start wearing a mask.' He leaned back, locking eyes with the standing Officer. It was time. He preferred not to mince words; and subtlety was a lost art in the Empire. "Commander, I am concerned having an Officer whose preferred method of sexual expression is rape."

So that was it, Tucker thought. Forrest had found out, and perhaps he did have an interest in the golden girl after all. Tucker's problem: was it enough of an interest for Forrest to make it an issue? "What do you care?" He asked, trying to assume the offensive while careful not to be offensive. "Do you care what happens to a slave?"

"Not particularly, since she and the other slaves will not be with us long."

"What?" This was just unexpected enough to undermine his confidence—again.

"I'm having them all put off the ship. Soon." Nothing in the Captain's tone invited comment or question. "I'm just making sure you know, because it seems that your 'options' are soon going to be rather limited."

"Again, what do you care?" 'Come on, Captain,' he thought. 'Just push a little further; make it a personal issue.' But he knew the other would not. A personal issue could be replied to in kind, but Forrest was not going to be so foolish. He had, as always, the upper hand; and he never gave it away.

"Again, I don't. Your recreational preferences are up to you. I don't give a damn about the slaves; they'll be gone soon and a tidy profit will come from them. And any Terran woman who cannot handle herself deserves whatever she gets.

"Just a word to the wise: There are people who are indebted to people; and people who are liked by people. I'm sure you're familiar with this, as not everyone involved in these tangled webs is actually on board this ship. And injudicious actions have a way of coming back on one."

He leaned forward, and by his manner it was clear the 'friendly' warning was at an end. "You were not my first choice for your job, Commander; nor are you the best one. You're competent, but if you fall afoul of the wrong party, my first choice is still out there."

"Yes, sir." Tucker said; his face as stony as his voice.

"Now get back to work. I don't want to be late to Dartmouth."

Tucker saluted, turned about, and stalked out of the room.


	8. Betrayals

In the center Command chair, Jonathan Archer noted the ins and outs of crewmembers moving through to the Captain's sanctum, and was very curious indeed. He sat for the time in the center seat as First Officer, but what he really wanted was to sit here by right; and doing so meant outliving the current occupant of that inner office. To do so meant that he had to know everything his 'superior' did.

So far as possible, his spy network allowed him to do just that, to keep informed, but it was both a careful balance and a risky one. He kept those loyal to him on his leash with credits and promises of promotion and better lives should the day come when he finally stood in command of this vessel. But though they worked for him, he did not trust any of them.

There certainly was no reason to trust them. Having sworn Oaths of Loyalty to the Captain of this ship, they were working for the First Officer instead, toward the day when he would be the Captain. He'd drawn them from their Oaths, binding them to him in his cause. They were, therefore, forsworn and not to be trusted. He doubted many would live past the day of his ascension. He would, in fact, have to have them all executed as traitors before the fact.

In the meantime, they had their uses. They kept him abreast of what his fellow officers were doing even as he made his own plans. And recently one of those plans involved compiling some vague but interesting rumors he'd started to hear about unusual events in the far removed Tholian Empire.

But for now, this recent activity in the Ready Room was just notable enough to make him decide that it was something he had to know about—and preferably before he received a filtered version of it from his 'chief'.

He stood up, walking slowly about the bridge, examining every station in turn, his 'tour of inspection' gradually taking him back to his destination, the tactical station in the rear of the bridge and the young woman who stood that post. Ensign Ann Anderson looked up as he arrived. He did not note that her eyes brightened at his closeness. "Commander?"

Archer's lips barely moved, he doubted even T'Pol's Vulcan ears could pick up his words. "Tucker." Without missing a beat, he spoke in a normal tone. "Sensor status?"

"Nominal, sir." Anderson reported crisply. She favored him with a tiny smile, her hand moving up slightly along the console until her fingertips touched the back of his hand. "Both External and Internal sensors operating at 100 percent efficiency." Archer's double blink as she said 'internal' made her instructions clear. She was vastly relieved she only had to trace the Engineer on sensors, to keep him under surveillance, routing the readings and records to Archer's personal console in his quarters.

She so hated it when she was assigned to contact with anyone on a personal level. But Tucker was someone she prayed would never be given the chance to touch her. She, like all Terran women, knew about him very well. They never failed, in the interests of their own safety, to keep one another informed about the idiosyncrasies of their shipmates. And Tucker was an extreme case even among those who had to be approached with care. He only wanted one thing and he did not seem to know or care how to not make it hurt! In fact, pain and brutality were part of his nature in the bedroom, which explained why he was alone wherever a choice could be given.

Besides, there was only one man on this ship she had any desire to share anything intimate with!

Even though he stepped away, his hand leaving the reach of her fingertips, it was only pretending; she was sure. He had to know how she felt, though he pretended there was nothing there, in caution against the others on the bridge. She'd tried to make it clear to him often enough! And she was certain she was right; he certainly felt as she did. Of that she had no doubt!

Archer continued his 'tour' in the same manner he'd begun, scrutinizing everything, his manner and visage hard. He never seemed to lose that hard veneer; it seemed chiseled into his features, that perpetual frown, that iron set of face. In centuries past it had been called the 'look of eagles'. To his fellows it was more generally considered a look of vultures.

However, privately he reflected on his previous thoughts, amending them slightly. He would hate to have to kill the lovely young woman when his time came to take that center chair. Rather, a mole with her skills at the tactical sensors could retain her usefulness long after the others had outlived theirs. And she did have her uses, both on the bridge and when they were alone. In fact, there she was particularly useful indeed.

Perhaps with her he would fulfill his promise; make her a Lieutenant. Perhaps he'd even give her Reed's job. The man was a competent soldier, but utterly useless when it came to independent thinking.

Then again, there was only so much that could be said—safely—for 'independent thinking'.

The matter bore further consideration. After all, in the end it all came down to one very important question: Who can you trust when there is no one to be trusted?

The only one that could truly be trusted was himself.

xxx

Charles Tucker strode into Engineering like a thunderstorm. His manner was held carefully in check, but he so radiated fury that everyone around him sensed it with the same force with which they would one day sense their own impending deaths.

Part of his fury came from the confrontation itself, part from the fact that it had taken place in front of a Sergeant! But then, much as people trained themselves to ignore the ubiquitous MACOs, when was the Captain ever without his guards?

However angry he was, Tucker swore he would bide his time. The day would come when Forrest would be without his precious MACOs, and Tucker would be there.

But for now he had others to deal with, and a chance to work off some of this raging fury.

Each man and woman of the combined Gamma and Alpha shifts gave his or her duty of the moment their absolute attention, paying strict care to the minutest detail. Those who could remain out of direct attention prayed they could remain so, and those in plain sight tried to keep Tucker from seeing that they held their breaths.

Tucker looked around the chamber, his personal domain and death sentence. The delta radiation emitted through the inadequate engine shielding of this and previous generation engines had destroyed his face and made certain everyone in this room would be toasting their own health years after he was gone. It was not that the shielding was faulty; no amount of shielding that could fit in a room this size and still allow humans inside could deal with the amount of radiation these engines, and especially their predecessors, put out.

And he had worked longer, and more closely, with them than anyone else on the ship had, so he was the one who was going to be first to pay the price. He had been in on the project since the innovative first years of the 'Archer Albatross'; so named by Starfleet engineers in dubious 'honor' of the Enterprise's own First Officer's father.

But now he had no time for such thoughts.

Right now he was furious, even more so than usual, driven so by the thrice damned Captain. He swore that, if he lived long enough, he would even the score. Or preferably; better it!

But for now there was an Engine to get to 100 percent, and as he looked around he decided there was also a way to work off his fury at the same time.

x

"Biggs!" He called sharply, and that man wished he'd found a more obscure place to stand as his name reverberated through the chamber like the dooming voice of the god of Death!

"Sir!"

"The EPS manifolds; double check the alignment. I'm reading only 96.8 percent on this board!"

"Yes, Sir!" George Biggs hurried to get to the specified units, grateful the duty would take him out of the main area for at least twenty minutes.

Tucker looked around the room. "Harris!"

Thomas Harris knew his long streak of bad luck was continuing in full force. "Sir!"

"Check the couplings in the injectors. Make sure there's no particle drift in the matter regulators."

"Yes, Sir!" The man grabbed the necessary toolkit and tried to erect his own warp field as he exited.

"Jurcisin!" Acton Jurcisin wondered just which of his latest sins was about to be punished.

"Sir!"

"Check the Dilithium matrix."

"Sir!" He hurried to the crystals set in the huge engine.

"Sherman!" Mary Sherman turned quickly.

"Sir!" She had to brush her red hair out of her eyes, dislodged as it was with the speed of her turning.

"Check the conduit on J2."

"Yes, Sir!" She turned back to her board, pulling up the diagnostic on the spot in question. A moment later she sensed a presence next to her and looked up into the hard face of Charles Tucker. 'Oh, hell!' she thought an instant before he spoke.

"Did I tell you to check the board, Ensign?!"

She gulped. She snapped to attention and focused, eyes front, on a point just past his right shoulder, so she would not have to look at that horribly scarred face. "No, Sir!" She had been on duty from Gamma, fourteen hours at this point, her thoughts were slowed and she had slipped, badly.

"If I wanted to check the board, I would have checked the board!"

"Yes, Sir!" She wished he would just shoot her and put her out of her misery!

"I told you to check the conduit on J2, didn't I?"

"Yes, Sir!" She felt the shroud of doom covering her.

"So get your kit, and get your ass up there!"

"Yes, Sir!" She almost ran for the supply cabinet, unable to believe her good fortune! She had been certain he was going to make an example of her before the entire crew! Yanking the toolkit out of its compartment, she hurried to the aft section and the ladder that led two 'stories' up to the sealed upper level above the 'ceiling'. There was a trapdoor in that ceiling that led to the flow regulators. She had one foot on the ladder when Tucker's sharp voice cut through the chamber.

"No, better yet, I'll do it." When she looked over her shoulder she saw him stalking toward her. "You'll assist! Left on your own, you'll probably blow up the ship!"

'Oh farging hell!' Mary thought as she stepped aside, letting him precede her up the ladder. She'd gone from being one of many to having his undivided attention just when she'd hoped he would move on to another target.

She glanced around. The other engineers were relieved their Chief was leaving, but she knew better than to look for any sympathy on their faces. Each of them was clearly thinking the same thing: 'Better her than me!'

Tucker pushed the button at the access port high above the upper level catwalk, the portal in the ceiling sliding aside as he climbed up into the chamber. Mary Sherman followed as best she could, the large, heavy toolkit making it very hard to grip the railing of the ladder as she climbed up two stories into the upper chamber.

When they were inside, Tucker pressed the button on a wall panel that sealed the trapdoor in the 'floor'. Sherman turned to the junction in question. "Just a minute!"

'Here it comes.' Sherman thought, bracing herself for a particularly scathing reprimand, one likely even more devastating for being delivered in solitude.

She turned, but when she saw the look in Tucker's eyes her blood suddenly ran cold. "No!" She gasped, her voice just barely a whisper as he grabbed the small top of her uniform. He yanked her to him so hard she was pulled completely off her feet, the zipper on the brief top tearing open, the material halving! The loud crash of the heavy toolkit on the deck reverberated in the small chamber, drowning out her distress!

xxx

Volare, the tall Trill slave, crawled as quietly as he could through the access tube on 'C' Deck. He had to be very quiet, as he was passing Astrogation and this was normally a fairly quiet section of the ship. Maintenance crews did perform regular checks and work here, but on the whole it was better to be quiet than to pretend to be a team of technicians. Volare knew the officer whose station was just behind this bulkhead. Seamus O'Cathain had very discerning ears, and just might be able to tell the difference.

So he worked carefully, as cautiously as he could, bent low, almost on his knees in the tight space, drawing ever closer to the electrical junction that was his target. In his pocket was a disk shaped canister, 6 inches across and two high. It was just small enough to be secreted, and was very powerful indeed. In fact, even without the explosive, the melankite within, exposed to oxygen, would eat through his flesh in an instant, leaving in seconds nothing of him but a temporary smear of goo on the rapidly dissolving metal.

Moving carefully, he approached the junction of two crossing tubes, in the ceiling of which ran the electrical leads that supplied power to this portion of the massive starship. Getting under them, he reached into his pocket and carefully withdrew the melankite bomb. The timer was already pre-programmed, synchronized to all the others and to the main chronometer on the ship that, in less than two days, would attack in an attempt to blow Enterprise out of the cosmos.

Reaching up, he carefully tucked the disk between one of the leads and the wall, wedging it into place. There were three leads in this spot, and when the bomb went off it would take all of them out and spread a coating of the fast acting corrosive over everything. Even if the Terrans had the time to try to make repairs, it would be impossible to enter the area to work until the corrosive had done its job, and worn itself out in dissolving the area. Volare had no idea how long that would be.

The Trill moved back a few feet and examined the area. He could see no evidence of the bomb's presence. Satisfied things were as secure as he could possibly make them; he withdrew from the area as carefully as he'd arrived.

He'd be back at his duties in less than five minutes, far too soon for his absence to have been noticed, since his duties often required him to be in several places at once. His part was done. The rest was up to the others.


	9. Agony And Ecstasy

The Imperial Star Ship Enterprise came out of warp and took a position three quarters of a kilometer off Dartmouth Station. The installation resembled a huge sphere from which a dozen spokes projected. There were six spokes extending from the 'equator' at 60 degree intervals, three at 120 degree intervals above and three at opposing intervals below. These 'spokes' terminated in airlocks to which visiting ships could dock while conducting their commerce. There were five airlocks already occupied by vessels of varying designs.

"The Station is transmitting a welcoming hail." Hoshi announced. "They report all the supplies we requisitioned are ready for pick-up. We are to use Bay 3." Bay 3 was one of the upper level docks, allowing plenty of room for the huge ship, a full 120 degrees of circumference from any other on that level.

"Major, are your assault forces in place?" Forrest asked, not looking away from the screen.

"Yes, sir." Reed replied crisply. "I have all five teams prepared to beam to key positions, and I have all five docked ships targeted."

Forrest did not turn away from the viewscreen, but he thought Reed's manner was just a little too pleased about the upcoming action. "Commander T'Pol, life sign readings?"

"I detect 947 entities aboard, from numerous races."

Forrest took a deep, silent breath and held it for a long moment before letting it out just as silently. "Begin."

xx

Sergeant Travis Mayweather and the three other MACOs in his team materialized on one of the main promenades, this one clearly doing a brisk business. There were numerous stores, apparently offering a vast selection of materials. He thought one could purchase anything in the cosmos one needed right here.

Surrounding him and his team, unnoticed by them, were more races than he had ever seen gathered in one place. There were Manarkians, Tellarites, Bajorans, Sularites, Capernians, Vulcans, Sindasians, Ventaxians, Boleans, Tumarans, Vendaxians, Deltans and scores upon scores of Terrans. Two Valderite children dashed past him, their voices high with excitement as they dashed through the huge open space. It had probably been months since they'd gotten outside the cramped limits of whatever ship they rode upon.

Travis and his team hefted their phase rifles, each taking one quadrant of an imaginary circle. At his signal, they started to fire.

Screams erupted through the promenade as bolts of death leapt to unsuspecting targets. Bodies fell; others noticed the danger and tried to escape, to be cut down as they ran. Travis and his team continued to fire.

Shrieks filled the air as unarmed males and females tried to flee, and were cut down in the maelstrom. Travis continued to fire, not allowing himself to see living beings; men, women or children, just targets. He missed nothing.

Piercing cries of panic rose to deafening levels as men, women and even children, stumbling over still bodies, were hit, fell and did not move as Travis and his team continued to fire, missing nothing.

Pleas for mercy went unheard in the cacophony as Travis continued to fire, missing nothing.

xx

Captain Maxwell Forrest could not take his eyes off the huge viewscreen as five rapidly expanding fields of metallic debris marked the gravesites of five ships whose crews, if they were aboard, had certainly been caught off guard, stowing supplies. Those crews not killed with their ships...

"Progress report." Major Reed called his Captain's attention. Forrest did not look at him.

"What 'progress'?"

"Our teams report they are meeting virtually no resistance. The promenade fell immediately. The teams are moving through the station, but the few armed personnel they encounter are completely overmatched by our forces." Forrest tried to keep his thoughts from showing on his face. "Starfleet is getting the clean sweep it wanted."

"Are they, Major?"

"Yes, sir!" The officer's tone spoke of vast satisfaction

Forrest realized his left fist was clenched tightly about the pommel of the dagger at his belt, and very carefully relaxed his grip. "I think, Major, that you enjoy your work just a little too much." It was not the first time he'd thought it of the man.

"Yes, sir!" Reed said, even more pleased at the recognition.

Forrest did not look back at him. He had all he could do to keep his thoughts from showing on his face, wondering how Reed would feel if he were to suddenly stand up and empty his own phase pistol into the man.

But he knew this was only stage one. "Major, recall two teams. Have them man the pods and deal with those on the planet's surface. Tell them not to bother landing, just annihilate the people from the air. They are not to damage any of the facilities more than necessary."

"Aye, sir."

Maxwell Forrest did not leave the bridge as his orders were carried out. To do so would have been to run, and to dishonor those who were dieing because of his orders.

No, not his orders.

Starfleet's.

The Empire's.

Not his.

xxx

Phlox beamed aboard Dartmouth as soon as he heard that the shooting was over. The dark Denobulan was not there to render aid. That was, in fact, the furthest thing from his mind. He already knew that everyone on the station was intended to be dead, by order of the Empire, so even if he found anyone that had not been killed outright by the MACOs, he was not interested in rendering any kind of aid.

His interest was purely in satisfying his own curiosity and desire to collect interesting subjects for his 'experimental explorations'. He only wanted to continue learning about the anatomy of a multitude of races, though not even in the event that he might actually come across members of that race that he was supposed to help.

He considered that very unlikely, in fact. His interest was purely in providing sufficient numbers of subjects for his own hobby.

Looking about the carnage of the main promenade, where bodies still lay where they fell in panic stricken flight, he sought out the more interesting specimens. He felt no empathy or compassion for any of the beings scattered about, red blood mingling with blue, purple, orange and a host of other shades. Dead all, they amounted to nothing more than test subjects, and fell into only two categories: interesting and uninteresting.

He stepped over to a small pile. The morgue had a capacity of fifteen, so he had brought fifteen transporter tags. He would attach one to each of the bodies he selected, and that body would be transported directly into a cell in the morgue, to be preserved there until he was ready to explore it.

Seeing a Kartaxian male of about 19 years, (as that species rated its maturity it was about middle aged), he attached a small disk to the back of its right 'hand'. He activated a control on it, and the body disappeared in a scintillating display.

Any he passed up would be stacked in the forward end of the nearest airlocks by the MACOs and other crew assigned to the detail. When the process was finished, just before Enterprise warped out to resume its normal routine, the airlocks would be opened and the hundreds of bodies within would be evacuated into space.

It was half an hour later; Phlox had made his way about the main promenade and had just knelt down beside the body of a Capellan woman, her long blonde hair spread over her like a shroud where she lay face down in a pool of blood, when a MACO Corporal came over to him.

"You about done, Doctor?" The dark woman asked.

He looked up at her. "Almost. Why?"

"The Captain wants to pull out. We're done here and on the planet. We even have all our supplies and plenty more to boot."

"All right, I'll be done shortly. I've got twelve specimens, this makes thirteen. Just two more to go."

The MACO shook her head. "Uh, uh, Doctor. You know the rules. Captain says you can use up to two thirds of the morgue. We need it for real casualties among the crew. That gives you ten. I'm afraid you'll have to toss two back."

Phlox stood up, irate. "This is outrageous!" He did not raise his voice, letting his anger come through in his tone. It was useless to raise it anyway; the woman was used to invectives that would blister bulkheads.

"Whatever." She replied, unruffled. "We warp out of here in fifteen minutes."

Leaving the black uniformed Denobulan behind, she turned and headed back to the rendezvous point with her team. The way before her had been completely cleared of bodies. Phlox stared after her, silently hoping the impertinent woman would soon be in need of his assistance.

Bending over, he activated the tag on the Capellan woman, beaming her body to the morgue, and set out in a fast search for his last two specimens.

xxx

Major Malcolm Reed strode into the Sick Bay, infinitely satisfied. The operation against Dartmouth Station had been classic, and the destruction of the ships docked in the various airlocks had been excellent, as had the 'mopping up' procedure on the surface. Though he could have wished that one—or more—of them could have mounted some sort of defense, just to make it interesting, he could not complain about the result. All five ships had exploded quite satisfyingly indeed, and he could just imagine the astonishment felt by those on the surface when the shuttlepods had started shooting!

He only wished he could have been there!

Phlox looked up at Major Reed as he entered, a half smile sketched on his face. The impermeable gloves on his hands were covered in rusty orange blood. Before him, on one of the diagnostic tables, was the body of a Draylaxian female, distinguished most notably by her three breasts. Phlox had the torso spread open and was doing some exploring. "What can I do for you, Major?" He asked, not looking up from his exploration.

The tone was not exactly wholeheartedly welcoming, but when had Reed heard such since boarding Enterprise; or indeed any ship of the Imperial fleet? He had never spent much time around the alien Doctor, but he wondered briefly if the Denobulan ever smiled.

No matter. What he had in mind, he was certain, would make the Denobulan grin. "I have a proposition for you."

"Really?" Phlox was not impressed. He glanced up at the Tactical Officer. "I must caution you; you're not my type."

Reed tried very hard to restrain his disgust. He only barely managed it

"This is about an idea I had a few days ago. Tell me; is it possible to use energy waves or some electronic means to stimulate the pain receptors in a person without touching him?"

"Eminently possible. Would you care for a demonstration?"

"Thanks, maybe later." Reed said, not sure he wanted to follow Phlox's line to its conclusion. "Here's what I have in mind..."

xxx

Ensign Ann Anderson walked next to but still a half step in front of the MACO Corporal who had summoned her from her quarters to those of the ship's First Officer. The dark woman behind her kept her eyes constantly moving, scanning for any danger even as she escorted her charge to the Commander. She did not care why she had been ordered to bring the tall woman from Tactical, only that she did so. Whatever the Commander's business with the Ensign was, it was none of hers.

Reaching the First Officer's quarters, so distinguished by the ubiquitous Imperial emblem of sword piercing the Earth, this one only an inch smaller than the Captain's and larger still than any of the others on the ship, she greeted her fellow guard already on post outside the door with a quick nod. The other soldier pressed the annunciation button, and a moment later the door opened.

Ann Anderson entered the inner sanctum of her Commander, the door closing behind her. He stood in the center of the room, regarding her, his uniform crisp and neat, resplendent with his medals, black sash, weapons belt and Commander's bars.

For an instant her eyes flickered, as they always did, to the lighted panel at her right. Upon it was displayed a staggering variety of weapons, each in some way indicative of the man before her. She wondered which mood he was in now.

Stepping forward into the room two sharp paces, she came to attention, brought her closed fist sharply to her left breast, then that fist extended out to full length toward him. "You wish to see me, sir?" She asked formally, knowing the answer long before.

He reached out for her, pulling her close. "Always!" His open mouth met hers hotly, their hands clinging to each other's bodies, searching intimately through uniforms designed to hide nothing at all before he reached between them, catching the zipper on the short blue top of her midriff uniform, pulling it all the way down and pulling the halved material aside. Her bare breast pressed against his uniform, and she reached to tug the other side away, being careful not to hurt her sensitive flesh on his medals.

xxx

"An interesting theory." Phlox told his visitor some time later. Usually there was little about Malcolm Reed that impressed him, but this time was different. "We'll want to build an enclosure so that the effect is contained and concentrated on the subject, and does not spill out into the surrounding observers."

"What about overloading the nerves? That's a real problem with most forms of discipline. Eventually the nerves just don't feel anything anymore."

The dark Denobulan waved it away. "That's easily resolved. The effect would not be generally spread throughout the body, but would be focused on a particular nerve cluster. When those nerves have been so thoroughly stimulated that they can no longer transmit the sensations, the system should automatically shift to a new junction, giving the previous ones time to recover. A synaptic scan of the subject can identify the best points to focus on, depending upon the species." He stopped, giving a moment's thought.

"It might even be possible to incorporate the instrumentality into a portable unit, possibly for use on a single select junction. It would be bulky, but possible. I'll give it some thought."

"In the meantime," Reed asked, "how long would it take to devise a full size unit?"

Phlox shrugged. "Oh, I couldn't possibly say. In theory, it can be done. Probably take months, however. How quickly the Empire technicians can create ..."

"Our technicians." Reed said firmly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm not just going to just hand over this idea to Starfleet!" Reed declared as if the point were perfectly obvious to an infant. "If this works, we'll install it on Enterprise. After it is tested and perfected, I'll consider selling the method."

Phlox paused, considering. "Sell..."

"What do you think? Care to go half on being millionaires?"

Phlox considered his prospective partner. The idea did not strike him as particularly appealing. He had little use for money, at least of itself. But there were things money could buy. Or people, come to that. There were some appealing Denobulan concubines he'd had hard times getting out of his mind since his last Leave. "Well, the Empire's way is to make their fortune from other people's pain. Why not do so literally?"

"I like the way you think, Phlox."


	10. Passions And Plots

"Captain's Log, supplemental, 2217 hours. It has been a day since the 'sterilization' procedure at Dartmouth Station, and Starfleet reports that replacement crews, having departed early, are already halfway to the Station. Dartmouth is scheduled to resume full service before the end of the week. Yet another glowing example of Imperial efficiency."

Forrest cut off the recording, saying nothing more lest his thoughts intrude into his voice. The Empire had ways of assessing the strength of its leadership, and a lack of strength was something to be avoided.

"Penny for your thoughts?" A seductive voice behind him offered. He turned to see Hoshi Sato approaching, having already changed for bed. She 'wore' a black negligee which tinted her body no more than mist would.

"My thoughts aren't worth that much."

"Aren't they?" She asked, moving very close to him, knowing he could feel the heat of her body. "It was a great victory."

"Victory?" He asked, surprised. "Victory? We took a civilian installation by surprise. Did you hear the body counts?"

"I gave them to you." She reminded him, getting even closer, letting him feel her body through his uniform, her voice still low in attempted seduction. Her breasts rubbed against him, her nipples hardening in response, coming alive in erotic points of lust. She'd soon get him out of this mood.

"Fourteen hundred eighty seven! Among them were twenty children, thirteen on the station, seven on the planet!" He turned away, unable to look at her any longer. He picked up a bottle, and a glass, but did not pour one into the other. "I'm a soldier—and I've been one all my life! But what soldier gives the order to make war on children? What kind of soldier kills children?!" He put the bottle down hard, the glass even harder.

"You were following the orders of the Empire."

"Yes, 'clean sweep' they wanted. Clean sweep they got! But at what cost? Have I sunk so low that I make war on the helpless, on those who ...What's happened to me?"

"You did what had to be done, to preserve the Empi-." Forrest whirled on her, his hand cracking against her cheek before he could think.

She fell back a step, stunned by his thoughtless reaction. He felt the stinging in his hand as she looked up at him, clearly equally stunned by his violence, hand pressed to her reddening cheek. "Well, I suppose you have your answer."

"I'm sorry." He said, flexing his hand, shocked by his own thoughtless violence. He hadn't realized how badly these orders had affected him. "I don't know what made me do that."

"No, don't apologize." She insisted, coming back to him, still not lowering her hand. "Never apologize for strength."

"Strength." He repeated bitterly. "The strength to slap a woman around?"

She grasped his wrist. "The strength to control what you have. The strength to command." She insisted, pressing her body close to his. "I was out of line, and you were right to slap me down. I deserve it." She pressed even closer, lowering her hand, letting him see the red imprint of his palm on her cheek. "Let me make it up to you."

"What?"

She reached up to him, coming up on her toes, straining for his lips. "You're angry. I know. You've so much to be angry about. So much!" She kissed him, leaning her whole body into him. "But let me make you feel better." She whispered into the kiss and pressed as close to him as she could. "I can make you feel so much better." She whispered hotly into his lips.

A moment later his hands closed on her and she felt the filmy negligee start to slip.

xxx

The following morning at 1115 hours, 3+ hours into the doomed Alpha Shift, Vist and Leena walked down the corridor on D deck, invisible to most by their very natures as submissive, subservient slaves. Vist, knowing that anyone who looked at them would be more attentive to the attractive jade Orion woman than to a bald blue Bolian, carried in the pocket of his open 'jacket' the six inch wide melankite disk.

They approached a junction; half turned the corner, and fell back again as quickly as possible, praying they had avoided notice.

"That's not in the plan!" Vist whispered quietly, referring to the MACO guard standing eight meters down the corridor!

"What the pliq is he doing there?" Leena whispered back sharply before getting hold of herself. It was a question Vist could not possibly answer. This corridor was supposed to be unoccupied at this hour, all the Alpha shift personnel being on duty and the Betas and Gammas either wakening soon or just retiring.

Vist peered cautiously around the corner, just far enough to see the man in the dim light. He leaned back again. "It's one of Commander Archer's men."

"That means Archer's here. But why? This is crew quarters for the enlisted and lower ranks." The Orion protested.

"If I'm not mistaken, that one is Crewwoman Ann Anderson's. She's a rather comely female from Tactical."

"Yes, I know her. Keirsh! What a time for a dalliance!"

Vlis stopped; a thoughtful look on his face. "Maybe it's a perfect time for one. Listen -." .

Corporal Anopoli had been standing in the corridor this morning for over thirty five minutes, ever since Commander Archer had led him to this door and had gone in alone. He had no doubt what the Commander wanted, and did not begrudge him the diversion. The only thing he did not care for was being left outside! Of course, to voice any complaint was to request to take a stroll out an airlock, so he kept his tongue.

Of course, given the choice and chance, he'd much rather keep his tongue in -!

A movement to his right attracted his attention, and he hefted his phase rifle, ready to challenge any 'intruder'. But he stopped when he saw that the approaching figure was only one of the female slaves, the green Orion woman. What was her name, Leeta? Lana? Lara? Who the hell cared?

He watched her carefully as she approached, wholly aware that she had no business here at this time. Of course, though he ostensively watched her to see if she posed a threat, he was really watching the whole of her. In the extremely short, sleeveless slave outfit she 'wore' she was not hiding any threat—or anything else! But then, he did not recall the slave garments being so low in front, showing such a generous expanse of...

She stepped slowly toward him, and stopped. He stopped frisking her with his eyes, the thought of doing so with his hands coming up hard. "Hello, Corporal." She breathed warmly. He nodded in greeting. "Pretty warm morning, isn't it?"

Temperatures on the ship were carefully controlled, but at that moment he could not disagree with her. He was indeed starting to find things very warm. "Aren't you lonely out here all alone by yourself?"

As a seductive technique, her methods were almost laughable, and she knew it. On a Terran ship where the female slaves were most often compelled to render services, seduction was a useless art. If she had to depend upon those skills she was dead already, as not even an idiot would fall for their obvious artifice. Fortunately, as an Orion, she did not have to depend upon seduction alone. All she had to do was get close to a man and let the powerful pheromones her body produced do all the work.

"Got to be." He admitted with a noticeable lack of restraint. "The Commander's inside with a woman." She was so close he could glance down her dress, between her breasts virtually to her navel.

"And left you behind?" She cooed, her voice growing hotter as she traced a jade finger over his chest. "Doesn't seem very fair to me."

"No. He's been in there for almost a half hour, and is probably good for another half." He told her breasts, staring at the slowly heaving mounds. She took a very slow, very deep breath and he nearly forgot what he was talking about. "Sometimes he likes to doze off, and I'm left standing here for three or four hours."

"Wouldn't you love to have some of the same thing he's enjoying?" Leena asked, running her fingers over his chest while at the same time biting her tongue to keep from laughing. It was the first thing she could think of to say, but she knew then that she really had to brush up on her technique; in case her pheromones did not work and she came up across someone with a brain in his head instead of within his pants!

"Can't. Wish I could—but if I leave my post and he catches me gone..."

Realizing he was about to get away from her, she reached out, deciding it was time to apply some direct attention to his brain.

Vist, watching from down the corridor, watched the contact and waited. He could already see the foregone end of this encounter a long minute before she led him across the corridor and got him to punch in the security override, opening the door to the unoccupied quarters.

As soon as they were inside, he was heading past, down the corridor to an access port, behind which was a tube that led to several backup electrical circuits.

x

Ann Anderson cried out over and over, more and more loudly under Jonathan Archer, her body straining up to meet his, her passionate cries reflecting their wild coupling. She clung to him, not wanting the wild ride to be over, trying her best to thrill him as he did her, trying to make the moment last forever!

But like all things it had to end. And its ending was a particularly sad one for, as usual, when finished with passion his scheming mind eventually turned to duty, or at least plans and conspiracies and she had little progress to show for her assignment.

When, a few minutes later, they lay together, pressed to one another in her thin bunk, she tried what she could to get his mind back on further exertions, but he would have none of it. "What of Tucker?" He asked her in a deceptively gentle tone. Deceptive because she had known him to change from gentle to forceful when the mood hit him, and sometimes those sudden shifts frightened her.

He wasn't brutal, but terrifying in his own way, for she never knew what he would do. There was forever a depth of anger, of frustration, within him that she always had to be careful not to allow to surface.

It wasn't like Tucker; he was always brutal and hurtful! A woman who fell under his mercy knew what she was doomed to; but Archer was different. His moods were unpredictable, but always charged with that underlying feeling of resentment and anger; Archer against the universe, even in bed. For all his skill as a lover, all his wild passion, he could be as dangerous as a pile of antimatter.

. She shook her head, biting the bullet and hoping that what she said pleased him. Of course, since she never was privy to his plans, she never knew what would make him happy or angry. "As you saw yesterday, he returned to Engineering where he was a positive terror to his crew. Whatever the Captain said to him, he made his people's lives a living hell. He did isolate and rape Mary Sherman; then left her where she lay.

"It was past end of shift before she came down, a surprise to Beta shift who hadn't known she was up there. She, of course, told them nothing, but I could see no one had to ask.

"For the past day he has been a model officer, doing nothing out of type for him—though the rape itself wasn't out of type either. He's been a consummate Officer and Engineer for the past day. It's almost like he knows, or suspects, that he is being watched. Possibly not by sensors, but just in general.

"He has his own crew cowed. I doubt any of them would raise a hand to stop or get rid of him. No one will mourn his passing, but no one will hasten it either. Nonetheless, he doesn't strike me as secure. He's king in his own domain, yet he's a king who constantly fears danger from without.

"After that one incident with Mary Sherman, he's been on his best behavior—though that itself is still not saying much."

"No idea what that meeting with Forrest was all about?"

"No. He hasn't voiced anything to anyone else, and I have had him under constant surveillance every minute. Engineering, Mess Hall, his Quarters. He spent the night alone. I dare say, after the rough time he gave Mary, he's going to be spending a lot of nights alone." Ann looked up, but the expression in Archer's eyes made her pull away. "No, please don't!" But Archer shook his head.

"No, I'm not going to ask you to do any 'up close and personal' research. You're too valuable a resource to risk on him, even if I felt inclined to share."

Ann pressed her face to his chest, turning toward the bed, not wanting him to see her face at this point, or her expressive eyes. A 'valuable resource' he called her. Not 'inclined to share' he'd said. But the passion of minutes before was nowhere in his voice. Nowhere in his words was there anything for her; any feeling, any desire, any caring! He wasn't willing to share, but his tone made it clear that it was not because he cared for her and wanted her for himself.

His tone matched his words. He was an ambitious man; she always knew this, but suddenly she knew what she was. She was not a beloved person to him. She was not a future 'Captain's Woman'. She was a 'resource' for use in his ambitious rise to the Captaincy.

Last evening they had had a wild, passionate night in his quarters. Now he was here in hers. She'd given him again everything she had, everything she was! She had held nothing back! She never did! She'd given him her mind, her body, everything. She'd given him her love! When she kissed him it was from within, a fire that consumed her very being! She'd taken him into herself so many times; she'd given herself to him freely, passionately, lovingly!

She'd given him the gift of her body even as she enjoyed the gift of his!

And she had worked for him, secretly, against her Captain, against her Oath! She had spied for him, given him personal knowledge supposed to be secret to the crew, had given him confidential information even his position as First Officer did not entitle him to. She had given him intelligence that was making his plan a reality. She could be flogged to death if she were ever found out!

But she'd done it willingly, lovingly, because she believed in him! She wanted him to succeed in his plans, even ignoring the promises he'd made to her if he were successful. She wasn't in this for herself—she was in it for him!

She had known for months that she loved Jonathan Archer, loved him with all her heart and soul and being and she gave herself to him willingly; body, mind, soul, sex! He was the universe to her!

And he called her a 'resource', one he wasn't 'inclined to share'.


	11. Zero Hour

When First Officer Jonathan Archer summoned Charles Tucker to the Hanger Deck, the Chief Engineer was outwardly calm, openly casual, and carefully hid a deep suspicion. Since Tucker's 'conference' with Forrest, he had been waiting for the other shoe to fall. True, he had worked off a small measure of tension with Mary Sherman, but that had been just a minor relief, a distraction, having no real effect upon the situation. Thus, on the whole he was more than normally suspicious, particularly of anyone above him in the Command structure, and cautious that he should not wind up with a dagger between his ribs.

When Tucker entered the Hanger Deck that housed the two short range Fighter Pods, he was not surprised to find the First Officer flanked by two MACOs; the dark female Corporal Drana and that tall male Corporal Anopoli. Both, he knew, were utterly owned by and fiercely loyal to Archer. Tucker thought longingly how nice it would be to have personal armed guards at his back. At this moment, he devoutly wished he had some!

When the First Officer glanced at him as the doors slid shut, and activated several controls on the panels before him, Tucker was considerably less at ease. The control sequence, he knew very well, activated a Level One diagnostic of all the systems in the room, including the internal monitoring sensors. Those sensors now no longer recorded anything that was said or done in the bay. They would be off line for about twenty minutes.

Looking at the three, particularly at the very powerful rifles in the hands of Archer's personal bodyguards, Tucker wished more fervently for bodyguards of his own.

But then he reconsidered. Archer was not going to kill him. If he were, he would have died the instant he entered the bay. And why cut off the sensors? An execution would be a matter of record; a warning for others. Therefore, he was not going to die. Instead, Archer wanted to say something to him; something that he did not want recorded. Thus, Tucker's apprehension transmuted to interest.

"Commander." Archer turned to face him, his expression hard. His perpetual frown dug furrows between his eyes, and looked as through they had been chiseled into his granite face. The First Officer addressed him in a voice that was just as hard, despite his quiet tones. In fact, the very quietness of his voice infused it with a deadly quality Tucker had never cared for; this time least of all. "I hope you appreciate that while I am approaching you, I am doing so with the most minimal risk possible. My sources tell me you can be trusted. If they are wrong, they will watch you die before they do."

Looking into the Commander's granite eyes, Tucker had no doubt of the truth of this. He also had no doubt that any assurances of trustworthiness and loyalty would fall upon deaf ears, so he did not bother wasting his breath.

"Maxwell Forrest is weak." Archer said in that deceptively quiet voice. "He puts on a good show, but I know him. He has a conscience, and that is a fatal infection. It breeds disease; the diseases of morality and compassion! This ship needs new leadership. I suspect you feel the same way."

"There's no love between me and Forrest." Tucker noted neither of them used the man's rank.

"I didn't think there was. I just wanted you to know that the day is coming when there is going to be a change in the Command Structure on this ship. I won't say when, but when it happens there will be quite a few people who will benefit from it."

"What sort of benefit?" Tucker asked carefully. He could not afford to seem too interested, but if he did not seem interested enough he knew the MACOs had orders to fire. That was part of Archer's minimum of risk. There could always be some reason dredged up for executing a fellow officer; and Tucker had no doubt that Archer had already enumerated a number of them.

Then again, Tucker could show a measure of interest tinged with caution; this would not be out of order. He was already the Chief Engineer. While the thought of getting rid of Forrest had a deep appeal—especially if he could do the deed with his own hands—he was already Chief. There was no place for him to rise within his own department.

"I'll need a good First Officer, one who knows the ship, one I can trust!" There it was; that word again. And again Tucker did not waste his breath. "If the future goes as I'd like to think it will, and very careful plans are being made to make certain that it does; then loyal officers will be at a premium, and will be duly rewarded."

"Well, there's loyalty and there's loyalty. Ultimately, there is loyalty to the Empire."

"What I have in mind will in no way conflict with that loyalty, but the Empire needs strength. It does not need a Captain who cannot be strong."

"I agree. Strength is what is most needed in Command."

"Forrest is a philosopher. He looks to history for his lessons, but it is the histories of the losers who try to justify why they lost. We should look to the strong."

"And you, of course, are strong." There was a gentle irony in the words; irony which Archer completely missed in the compliment.

"And you'll find there are other benefits as well to being First."

"Such as?"

"Forrest knows about your ...passions; what appeals to you. He does not approve of your pleasures. I, on the other hand, don't give a damn."

"A man who cannot take, cannot conquer what he wants, is not a man! And when you come down to it, women are weak, and for all the work they may do and the so-called 'rank' they may hold in the Empire, they have only one real purpose! They may try to deny it, but women need to be conquered more than they need to breathe!"

"I'm glad we're in agreement."

"Yes, sir!"

"I believe a man has to be strong. Great men are not lax, or weak, they are conquerors! They take what they want, and if others do not have the strength to hold it, then they die and make way for the strong!"

Tucker thought quickly. He agreed with all this, was buying into it, but in a very real, immediate sense, he knew had no choice. He'd heard Archer's pitch. He could agree, or he could die. It was as simple as that.

"All right, I'm in. I'll support you."

"You won't regret it." Of that, Tucker had no doubt at all. If he did not follow Archer, or if the First Officer's plan failed, he would not live to regret anything!

"Just, when you move against Forrest, I want to be there."

Archer smiled tightly. "I'll see what I can do."

Tucker blinked and missed it, but suddenly there was a dagger pressing the flesh under his chin. He looked down very cautiously, moving just his eyes. A part of his brain that calmly calculated these things realized that if the thrust were to be completed, the blade's point would be lodged deep in his sinuses.

"Just one thing, Commander." Archer said in just as quiet, just as deadly a tone. "Stay away from Ann Anderson."

"Of course, sir." Tucker said very carefully, his mouth barely moving. "She would make an excellent Captain's Woman."

"Who said anything about 'Captain's Woman'? She just has some ...talents ...I don't want to lose."

"I understand perfectly, sir."

"I doubt it. Just be careful." He pressed the needle sharp dagger in just a little bit harder, not quite drawing blood. "I'll know when you're planning to betray me, and I don't give first chances."

"I understand, sir." Of that, Tucker had absolutely no doubt!

"Good." Archer lowered the blade, returning it to the sheath at his hip. "Now go. We'll talk again."

x

Charles Tucker turned and left the Bay, careful not to look back. As he strode down the corridor, receiving unseen and unacknowledged salutes from subordinates—who were just about everybody—he knew the stakes by which he lived his life had just increased dramatically and not necessarily in his favor! His life had just become far more complicated. He wondered if it had also become much briefer.

He had signed on to Archer's bold plan. If the man succeeded, Tucker knew his power aboard Enterprise would be vastly increased. If Archer failed, Tucker was dead.

But there were other things to worry about as well. Forrest, for all he detested the man, was a known adversary. He knew that if Forrest decided Tucker was no longer useful, or had a sense that Tucker was about to betray him, he would give the order and someone would pull the trigger. He might even be sporting and let Tucker see it coming.

But Archer...He had never, ever been able to get a handle on the man. He could not even decide, after all their time together, if the man was truly stable or was one rivet short of a bulkhead. He had given his support, but he wasn't sure how much faith he had in the future. He wasn't even sure when the man would decide to give his sinuses that thorough scraping out. It might be now, five minutes from now, or a week from Tuesday.

xx

M'Rawl let herself out of the service crawlway on F-Deck, her sharp ears detecting no sound as she very carefully replaced the combing, pushing it back into place. This was the last of the bombs, secreted in Sensor Control. She had moved silently behind the bulkhead, the room beyond that wall a hive of activity that actually covered any sound she might make. The bomb had been set to destroy the wiring that led to the systems inside. If possible, it might take out that bulkhead and scatter the melankite corrosive throughout that room, adding to the devastation as essential systems melted and vanished.

M'Rawl padded silently down the corridor on her way back to the slave quarters. It was only an hour until the bombs would go off and the Andorian battleship attacked. She had to be in position when that happened.

The Caitian ran her sharp claws along her forearms, rubbing them along her fur to calm her nerves. Or rather, she tried to. There were no more claws to comfort her. They had been removed shortly after her capture and reduction to slavery within the Empire.

She still recalled, with agonizing vividness, that horrible day. Her paws had been clamped down so she could not move, and her beautiful sharp claws had been pulled out one by one. They had used heavy pliers and had gripped her claws, yanking them right out of her paws as she'd shrieked for mercy.

They had not cared about her agony; or what her life would be without her lovely claws. They had just ripped them out of her!

But to a Caitian, claws were far more than methods of protection. They were analogous to human fingers, and were used for gripping and manipulating. It was as if they had torn the first two knuckles off each of a human's fingers.

It had taken her months to adjust, to learn how to hold things, how to handle objects, how to perform the simplest tasks. There were still some fine work that would be forever beyond her. Even the comforting scratching of her own arms in her nervousness was denied to her.

But they would pay! In just an hour, they would all pay!

xxx

The normal routine of the Enterprise had reasserted itself with surprising smoothness for anyone who did not know the minds of its crew. Dartmouth Station was already history. It was completely unmanned, even by the corpses which had been blown free in evacuating airlocks in the direction of the system's sun, where gravity would in its own due time clean up the last remnants of dissidence. Whether the dissidence had been real or imagined made no difference, and indeed it never had.

Alpha shift was in its last hour, and those on duty were thinking of little more than leaving their posts for rest. It had been a long, uneventful shift, which accounted in the main for the fatigue the crew was feeling.

Certainly there should be no other reason for it.

xxx

"Four minutes!" M'Rawl hissed, checking the chronometer in the common room carefully. The chamber, the center of a collection of rooms barely large enough to sleep in, was filled by the thirteen slaves. One of their number was absent.

"All right, everybody, just keep your heads and remember the plan." The Andorian Kris reminded them quietly, his antenna shifting to take in each of them in turn. "When those bombs go off, so will everything else; lights, doors, sensors, weapons, life support, engines, shields, everything! Thirty seconds later our battleship is going to drop out of warp and blast this ship to atoms. They will try not to target the starboard aft of the saucer, but when the lights go out we will have half a minute to reach the escape pod at the stern and get out of here!

"Everyone have your hand lights? Good. Remember, when the lights go I'll be outside. Vist, Martek, Liram, Volare and Qupek will take care of the MACOs. Leena and M'Rawl, you'll get Tia up and out."

"I can -!" The young Auran tried to protest, but Kris waved her off.

"Until that knife wound heals you're not going to be fast enough. We can't give you any of the pain medication; it will only slow you down. Just let them take you."

Tia did not protest again. Frankly, she did not believe she would be able to stand, let alone run, but she had not wanted to be treated as an invalid.

Even though she was.

"Now, we all know where we're going, how to get there. We could do it in the dark but we're not going to, hence the hand lights. Volare will activate the manual control on the escape pod. It has its own separate power, but we still have to open the door."

"One minute!" M'Rawl hissed.

"Okay, this is it. Positions all." They adopted their long rehearsed positions near the door or rear of the common room. "Anyone nervous?"

"Yes." Most of them responded.

"Good."

"Fifteen seconds!"

x

Five seconds later, Kris stepped up to the door of the slave chambers, which opened automatically for him. The Andorian casually nodded to the two MACOs on duty, each of them suddenly alert again. Qupek, out of sight with the others, held his hand on the door, the safeties preventing it from closing again. The MACOs, surprised by this unexpected exit, were about to order him to return to the slave quarters the lights went out.

Kris grabbed both phase rifles, his hands closing tightly on where they had been before blackness enveloped everything, and pulled them over his head with all his strength. It was all he had to do; Vist, Martek, Liram, Volare & Qupek came charging through the open door and took care of the rest.

Inside, Leena and M'Rawl pulled Tia off her bunk. "Come on, this is it!" Leena said as they got her between them, each supporting the taller woman. She was conscious though unable to walk yet. She could barely move her legs, but between them they got her across the room and into the corridor, lit now only with hand torches.

Qupek and Liram, their respective guard now thoroughly asleep until the end of his stay on this physical plane, took over supporting the Auran as the thirteen slaves hurried down the corridor. Kris and Volare took point, carrying the phase rifles.

"Our ship should be dropping out of warp any second now. They'll open fire immediately, but will not target the aft starboard section of the saucer if they can avoid it." Kris reminded them; though they all knew this thoroughly already. "We have to hurry, though."

That they knew even better.

"Where's Cutler?" Leena wanted to know as they moved through the blackness.

"Atmospheric control junction B; armed with a full load of the sedative. I'd wanted her on hand at that station should something go wrong. The extra volume of sedative she's carrying will put out all the Terrans. She has a mask to protect herself and orders to use the gas if the lights hadn't gone out on schedule. She'll rendezvous with us just before we reach the escape hatch! Come on, move it!"

xx

On the bridge of the Enterprise, there was no light at all. Primary, secondary and tertiary systems were all down.

"Report!" Forrest snapped into the blackness. No matter where he looked, there was nothing to be seen, not even stars on the now dead viewport. They were completely enshrouded in the blackness of the tomb.

"Everything is out." T'Pol reported. "Power is down all over the ship. Battery power is off line. Weapons systems are gone. There are no working connections anywhere!"

xx

The Andorian warship Krathis dropped out of warp at a carefully calculated point that put them less than a quarter kilometer from the larger Terran battleship. The Enterprise, pride of the Empire, having fallen out of warp in an uncontrolled deceleration, was already starting to drift in the gravitational currents of nearby bodies.

On board the ship, the Andorian Captain quickly inspected the Terran ship. It was dark. Sensors showed there were no shields, no weapons, absolutely no power aboard. The Enterprise was completely dead. "All weapons locked!" His gunnery officer reported.

Plans had gone perfectly! The Empire's flagship was drifting in space; powerless, impotent, helpless.

"Fire!"


	12. Blades Of Death

"Contact confirmed, 204 meters directly ahead." Malcolm Reed's voice reports in the blackness of the bridge.

"Status?"

"Sensor filters at maximum. Weapons locked on."

"Fire."

The huge starship fires its many phase cannons while launching three volleys of five torpedoes each, all weapons converging at the same point. The powerful phase barrage, the full output of multiple cannons focused on one point, overloads the Andorian's shields locally. The first barrage of five torpedoes takes those shields out, inflicting first damage on the Andorian ship's bow; the second volley finishes the job and blows a hole deep in the warship, taking out most of the forward section; the third quintet expends their deadly payloads unobstructed within the bowels of the ship.

Eight seconds after the Krathis had dropped out of warp; it becomes a field of rapidly expanding metallic debris centered on a dimming cloud of fire as the exposed atmosphere is burned off in the fury of the titanic explosions that had obliterated the warship.

"Engineering." Forrest calls. "Restore main power. Let's have a look at them."

As the lights come back on, and the sensor filters that had disguised the ship's weapons signatures are shut down; the silence is replaced by the sounds of systems being restored to full strength, the viewscreen comes on to show the extent of the destruction. The last of the fires on the Andorian ship are just burning themselves out as the atmosphere dissipates. The mass of the vessel had been reduced to an expanding cloud of debris. Only one vessel hangs poised in the heavens; Enterprise.

"Lt. Sato, contact the other ships. Let's find out how they fared."

xx

On F deck, starboard aft, thirteen slaves hurry carefully but quickly to the single mass escape pod located in this section, using personal torches to pierce the blackness. Armed with captured phase rifles, Kris and Volare lead the way, but the Andorian and Trill are perfectly content to find nothing to shoot at. In the rear of the group, the Argelian Qupek and Ligonian Liram support Tia between them, the Auran being able to stand but not walk on her own.

"Where is she?!" Salir exclaimes. They were supposed to have rendezvoused with Elizabeth Cutler at the previous junction, but she had not been there! In seconds the ship would be under attack; there was no time to wait!

"I don't sense her." Kaspar reports, her antenna twitching in her concern. "She may already be at the escape pod."

"That wasn't the plan!"

"Maybe she was captured. They might—." Vist says nervously.

"Quiet!" Kris commands; his whisper sharp. "You're making too much noise!" He too is worried; the plan had been for all of them to escape. But if Vist was right, and Cutler has been captured, he can only hope that his fellows aboard the warship outside will make the Terrans pay in full measure for her.

He expects that at any instant the ship will be rocked with the first volley of weapons fire, as the warship cuts loose on the helpless starship.

They reach the port to the escape 'tunnel', pulling it open just as the lights came on, along with all ship's power.

"What the farg's going on?!" The Mintakan Alura exclaims, squinting against the sudden light.

"I don't know and it doesn't matter!" Kris says sharply. "Get to the escape pod—now!"

En mass, the fleeing slaves rush to the port midway down the length of the 'tunnel' and the Trill Volare activates the controls. He'd been prepared to use the manual overrides; but now this is not necessary!

The huge circular door swings open to their left and they hurry aboard, each stepping up over the high lip of the circular port, pressing close together as they crowd in, the pod barely big enough for them all. In the final, mad scramble to board, to get away before whatever had gone wrong affected their escape, Qupek and Liram release their hold on Tia, letting her cling to the door so each could get in, then reach back, taking her hands.

In that instant they hear a 'swffttt' and Tia stiffens with a scream as the handle of a dagger appears in her right side! Her hands slip from the other slaves' and she staggers backward, falling to the deck. Barely able to breathe, though the blade had struck low enough to miss her lung, Tia reaches imploringly for aid from her friends; aid that is now several feet away, a light year beyond her reach! "Help me! Please!"

"I'm sorry." Liram says sadly. The door starts to swing closed!

"Please! Don't go! Not without me!"

She sees the distressed faces of her friends, the only friends she has on this ship, staring at her helplessly an instant before the port, controlled from the main panel in the pod, clangs shut. "NO!" She screams in hopeless despair as the launch mechanism engages and the pod shoots out of the starship!

Unable to get up, Tia looks to her right toward the entrance to the tunnel, to the source of her agony and failure, and her universe explodes in madness!

Commander Charles Tucker stands well inside the door, flanked by two dark gray uniformed MACOs armed with phase rifles. With him, a few feet deeper into the room, stands Elizabeth Cutler!

She is wearing the two piece blue uniform of the Terran Empire, the black and silver shoulder bars of a Lieutenant, an expression of merciless satisfaction and an empty dagger sheath. It is empty because her dagger is now buried deep in Tia's side!

Tucker strides into the tunnel, to the controls beside the sealed port, and activates them. On the large screen they see the receding image of the escape pod. It is traveling away at full burn. Obviously, once they ejected from the ship and had discovered the true situation, they were putting everything into the engines, trying to get away! Tia watches helplessly from the floor as he activates the intercom. He knows Forrest's attention is on receiving the reports of the other four Starships in the fleet, and not on what is happening elsewhere in the ship. "Reed, are you tracking?"

"Locked on." Major Reed's voice comes back with a terrible satisfaction.

"Fire."

"NO!" Tia screams, trying to get up, reaching helplessly to stop the inevitable.

A lance of red energy leaps after the pod, touches it and the pod explodes in a brilliant but soundless fireball, utter silence an unfitting end for the lives of the twelve slaves! Tia shrieks, horrified at the dimming light of the fireball that marks the last instant of her friends' existence.

"There's your 'tidy profit', Captain." Tucker says to no one.

"Well, at least we salvaged one." Elizabeth Cutler says, turning to where Tia lay on the deck.

* * *

Tia Anlor of Aura, former slave who had 'escaped' into slavery, then had tried again for the freedom that had again cost the lives of all those whom she cared for, never knows what gives way in her in that moment! Long intense training on her home world, months of kill-or-die conditioning against the Silurians that had been thoroughly beaten out of her over months of abuse and depravation, washes over the terror that had become her life. Her fury at constant, merciless abuse and her hatred of these people centers on the woman who had betrayed them!

Suddenly Tia does not feel the dagger imbedded in her side, nor all the other wounds that Sato and Tucker had inflicted upon her! She is on her feet before she can think, before the MACOs can bring up their guns, and all she feels is the surprised woman's long hair in her left hand, her chin in her right as she twists as hard as she can!

There is a loud double 'crack!' and Lieutenant Elizabeth Cutler falls to the deck.

For a moment there is utter silence in the short corridor.

"You really oughtn't to have done that." Tucker says, looking down at the dead woman. "She really was a good agent, you know; if inclined to be a bit dramatic." But though his words say one thing, his tone says he really does not care one way or another.

And he does not. She'd been aboard to root out rebellion, and her job was finished. She'd have gone onto another ship, begun the process again, but whether she lived and worked or died, it is all the same to Tucker.

"Still, she was right about one thing. We do have one slave left."

Looking at Charles Tucker, the monster she'd feared above all, the pitiless sadist who had abused her for months simply because he could while she was helpless, Tia feels her hatred burst! It floods her soul, her essence, her being with a white hot, all-devouring and all-destroying hate!

She grasps the handle of the dagger protruding from her side, getting a tight grip on the surface slick with her golden blood, and yanks it out, her scream of rage overwhelming the pain! She brandishes the dripping blade, not caring about the golden blood flowing from her side or the pain that threatens to rob her breath. All Tia cares about is burying this blade into his black heart!

"Vor'nesh-d'krakas'zund!" The translator, which had been handling Auran for these many months, cannot render the hate flooded epithet, but Charles Tucker feels he understands it quite well.

When she'd drawn the blade the impressed but wary MACOs at the door, too late before to have countered her unexpected killing of Elizabeth Cutler, had raised their phase rifles; but Tucker waves them down as he faces the enraged young woman, drawing his own dagger from the sheath at his hip.

"All right, bitch." He tosses the gleaming dagger deftly from hand to hand. "You wanna dance? Let's dance!"

Tia, driven by rage, knowing she will be killed anyway; that she has no chance of survival, lunges; but he parries the oncoming blade easily, stepping aside lightly as the ring of metal chimes out for death. Tia attacks again, calling on all her skill, but he deftly moves aside at the last instant, his dagger striking hers, ringing as he nimbly escapes her impassioned rushes. The handle of her dagger is slick with her blood, and she can barely hold onto it. Tucker's strike almost knocks it out of her hand!

She meets Tucker's own attack with a fast series of counters that leave the ringing of the twin daggers echoing off the bulkheads. But the exertions make the blood escaping from her wound flow faster. She feels herself growing weaker, loss of blood and the privations she has endured leave her nowhere near a match for Tucker. She lunges desperately at what looks like an opening but he turns nimbly, getting behind her, raking his blade downward across her back as she nearly falls past him.

She comes up hard against the bulkhead, gasping for breath as her back explodes in searing pain. She feels the wet blood start to flow down her back even as she turns toward the grinning monster! The 'dress' is sliced open in back, hindering her movements.

She tries to move to his right, to keep him turning, judging that the scarring would have weakened his vision on that side even as it pulled his eye out of line. But this is a ploy he has long prepared for, knowing dozens of people would want to take advantage of that perceived weakness; and when Tia does lunge he slices the blade up along her arm!

She cries out, staggering away, almost dropping the dagger as blood wells up from forearm to elbow. She skids, slipping on her own blood and just barely manages to keep her feet, but feels a sharp pain between her legs; and a trail of blood flows down her thighs, where her exertions have reopened Hoshi's vicious wound!

Tia feels herself getting lightheaded, her hands shaking as the initial strength of fury fades, overwhelmed by loss of blood. Blood flows from her right side, her back, right arm and down her thighs. She is covered in golden blood and has not succeeded in touching Tucker once! There is not a drop of red on him or the deck. And as he moves about her with casual grace, she knows she cannot win! She shrieks, a high, piercing screech she hopes will startle him, and lunges for his heart, but he catches her arm, pulls her to him, and rams his dagger deep into her stomach! Her scream becomes one of pain, this pain worse than any other, the pain of utter failure!

He grabs her body, pulling her close. He holds her firmly despite the blood flowing down her body and now marking his blue uniform, and pulls out the blade, a wash of golden blood flowing down both their bodies. She cannot fight anymore, cannot even push against him as he holds her tightly, her body to his. He grabs her knife hand, thrusts her arm up, bending her backward, twisting her wrist sharply. He keeps the pressure up, twisting her wrist further and further as she grimaces in pain, trying to keep hold of the dagger. She tries to fight the pain but as he continues twisting further she can no longer hold on, and it slips from her bloody fingers to clatter to the deck.

With his left hand he grabs her long hair, bending her head back, coming in close, his face to hers. "It doesn't have to be over." He tells her. "You don't have to die. You can stay on, with me!"

Tia gathers up what she can and spits in his face.

He lets her hair go; she still bent backward, and gathers the rags of her clothing into his left fist. He raises his dagger high, letting her see it gleaming high above her, and plunges it into her chest!

Tia's body stiffens, unable to move in her agony, head thrown back, her mouth open in a silent scream, but the pain robs her of everything.

When he pulls the blade out of her chest, her blood gushes, covering her from chest to legs. She starts to lean back further and he releases his grip on her 'dress'. Tia falls heavily to the deck, but though she slams down upon it deck she barely feels the impact. Her breath comes in fast pain-filled gasps. She looks up at Tucker as he comes down on one knee to kneel beside her, the dripping blade still in his hand. She cannot raise her hands, cannot move her body. She feels the ship, the entire cosmos, twist and turn to move in an unreal direction as the loss of blood overwhelms her.

She looks up at him, gasping, unable to get enough air into her protesting lungs, but she can barely focus on him. Ironically, in this last moment, as her vision begins to blur, the scars that distort his face fade away, leaving him looking human, unmarked, handsome...

"Last chance, bitch!"

Tia takes as deep a breath as she can against the agony in her chest, and whispers her reply, the oldest English words she knows to express her answer.

Enraged, he rams the blade into her chest again! But this time, though she cries out, she barely feels the pain.

"Aura!" She whispers weakly, barely a gasp, her vision blurring more, the ship slipping deeper in that unreal direction. "I return ...to you ...my breath!"

Her whisper fades in one final long sigh, and Tia's eyes start to slowly close. She doesn't see Tucker raise the blade again and bring it down furiously into her chest. She feels the impact, the fading pain, but does not care! He is so enraged he brings the blade slamming down into her chest again, again, and then again.

She does not feel it.

Tia's eyes close, her body stills and she breathes no more.

* * *

Tucker holds the dagger in her chest a moment longer, then opens his hand, letting go of the hilt covered with golden blood. Her body and the deck are awash with gold.

Vastly angry, frustrated, he looks down at her face but he sees nothing of the agony, the deprivation, the terror that had characterized her life aboard Enterprise. He sees nothing of her torment as a refugee slave captured in the full hopes of freedom and enslaved again to a far more personal and painful servitude.

Instead, on her placid face is an expression of final peace, the peace she had never known in life.

Tia Anlor lies still, her long torment over.

Tucker stares down at the woman and is jealous! In that moment, all he can feel is how jealous he is!

Jealous of her peace!

Standing up, not letting the MACOs see the look in his eyes, Tucker stares down at the woman's body. "Get someone to clean this garbage up." He suspects they will bring her down to the morgue, to Phlox. He is sure the Denobulan will love her for his 'explorations'." He steps over her and walks off the deck.

The two men approach silently, looking down at the still, lifeless body of the former slave, the pool of her golden blood continuing to widen.


	13. Epilogue

Trip Tucker lies on his bunk, thoroughly asleep; so much so that he does not feel the young woman come up from behind him, her head supported on her open hand, a smile on her golden lips.

Tia Anlor lay behind Trip in his bed, the warmth of his body suffusing her cooler, bare flesh. He is so thoroughly asleep that when she came in, being unable to rouse him, she had gotten onto the bunk between him and the wall, and nothing she had done then or later had disturbed him. She lay as naked as he, snuggling against his body as he lay facing the room, just enjoying the moment.

For two hours she had lain behind him, lost in pleasant thoughts, one arm draped unfelt over him, dozing occasionally but full sleep still eluding her. Finally she partially sat up, head propped in her hand. With a small, mischievous smile, she reaches up and starts running her fingertip along the ridges of his ear.

"Tia?" He calls; his voice heavy with sleep.

"It me is" She says softly.

"No kidding!" As if anyone else could have access to his quarters, or would get into bed with him! He moves his head impatiently. "That really tickles!" He says in mild complaint. "I don't know about you, but it makes me tingle all the way down to my toes!"

"To stop do you me want?"

"Yes!"

"Ca-klir." 'All right' she whispers. She stops teasing his ear, though even her tone is not disappointed. He tries to rub the sensation away.

"I'm sorry, I am really, really tired. I didn't get to bed until oh-three-hundred!"

"Know that I do. Came to 'visit' at oh-four because sleep I could not, but wake I you could not."

"Not a chance. I am dead!"

He closes his eyes again, wanting to doze off. She waits a few moments, then takes a few strands of her long, golden hair and plays the ends along and into his ear.

"Tia!" He brushes the sensations away again, rubbing his ear. He does not want to get annoyed at her—ever—but sleep is his desperate and deeply desired wish.

"Do you get up want to not?" He forces his eyes open just long enough to barely focus on the chronometer, and then closes them again.

"No. It's 0620 on my day off! You're the only one who needs to worry about getting to your shift."

"Daai." She comes up a bit higher on the bed so she can lean closer over him, her long golden hair curtaining them as she whispers in his ear, her warm breath tickling him. "Li vantis cuvilir, Salyuuni."

That gets his attention. He turns, looking up at her, her smiling face framed in the curtain of her golden hair. "I love you, too." She comes down to kiss him, a soft brush of her lips over his, but then her lips move from his to his throat, not moving, a human gesture replaced by an Auran one just as intimate. "But I'm very tired. I really just want to get some more rest."

"Ca-klir." She whispers into his neck, her warm breath sending tingles down his body. He turns over and closes his eyes. He almost starts to doze off again when, with an even more mischievous smile, she gathers her hair back, comes down and sticks her tongue deep into his ear.

"Yeesh!" He exclaims, leaping out of the bunk, the blanket flying away. He turns back to her, now thoroughly aggravated. "All right! I'm up! I'm up!" She looks him over, particularly one part of him now thoroughly exposed, and smiles seductively, crawling to the edge of the bed, equally naked. She knows he can sleep again later, and this time he will be far more relaxed.

"Yet nyasi." She whispers hotly, licking her lips; then casts her eyes up as she reaches out to him, drawing him closer. "But a piwu—a minute give me!"


End file.
